


Walking On Hell

by scribblemoose



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-16
Updated: 2004-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never forget:<br/>We walk on hell<br/>Gazing at flowers</p><p>Issa</p><p> </p><p>Started January 28th 2003 ~ Finished June 16th 2004</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Meditation 1

**Author's Note:**

> Complete.

Aya closed long fingers around his erection with a sigh; his eyes fluttered closed.

Masturbation was like meditation to Aya. He smiled faintly at the thought… he could remember a time, long ago, when he was Ran, and he thought it might have felt like sin.

He hadn't known, then, what sin really was. This wasn't sin. Sin tasted completely different. Sin was black cruelty, gruesome hatred and betrayal, and nothing whatever to do with the simple pleasure of skin stroking silky skin.

Guilty pleasure?

No. There was guilt, and there was pleasure.

Guilt was blind justice, anonymous, delivered by sword.

He wasn't sure what pleasure was, anymore. But it was something like a kiss, a caress, an embrace. It was something like this.

He stroked slowly at first, brushing sensitive skin in time with his breathing, kept deliberately slow.

He thought of Yohji.

It hadn't always been Yohji, even for Aya; for Ran, it had never been Yohji at all. It had been different people, at different times. But now, it was Aya, and Yohji.

So he thought of Yohji: of dark blonde hair confined, curling at nape of neck; of emerald eyes hooded and dark in unguarded moments; of slender hips and long legs lounging; of hands that trembled from excess in the mornings; of hands always steady at night, quick and deadly, and hated.

He let the thoughts fall away, focused on his own body, pale and taut and willing. His breath wanted to come faster now, but he wouldn't let it. He sighed, arched his back to release some of the tension that was building in his body.

He brought his knees up a little, feet flat on the futon, making it easier to move his hips.

He thought of Yohji.

Definitely Yohji: Yohji with women, hiding his pain in soft, pliant bodies; Yohji with men, furtive, secret, self-punishing; Yohji with Yohji, male and hard and needy.

He let himself give in to the breath, spreading moisture from the weeping head of his erection down the length of it, raising one finger to his mouth to caress swollen lips, wrapping his tongue around it, wet and hot. He kept caressing his fingers with his mouth, and his mouth with his fingers, moving his other hand over hardness with increasing pace.

He thought of Yohji.

No-one but Yohji: Yohji's lips yielding to Aya's, soft and pliant; Yohji's body pushing against Aya's, hard and wanting; Yohji's cock, leaking and twitching in Aya's hand, sliding into Aya's mouth, filling him; Yohji's ass, hot and tight and wrapped round Aya's cock in an embrace so intense, so intimate, so final… and so good it had nothing to do with sin, or pain, or guilt.

Just Yohji.

Aya arched his back, lifting his hips from the bed as he came, completely unaware of how beautiful he looked: long slender body taut and pale, shadowed by candlelight; eyelashes fluttering against cheeks slightly stained with pink; hair tumbling from his face in streaks of red silk; ribbons of white flowing over his tight belly and chest.

His breathing slowed again, and he thought of how beautiful Yohji would look, if only his smile were real.


	2. Chapter 1: Mercy

"Aya-kun… he looks so pale. Will he be alright?"

"He's lost a lot of blood," said Aya, grimly.

"He'll be fine, Omi," Ken reassured. "Yohji's strong."

"He got the information, by the looks of it," Aya handed Omi the small grey disc. "Go have a look, see if you can find that schedule. Ken, get the med kit."

"Of course, Aya-kun." Omi headed for his computer, Ken for the bathroom.

Aya sat on the edge of Yohji's bed with a sigh.

"Oh, Yohji." He picked up Yohji's clammy hand, kissed the palm. "Come on, wake up," he murmured.

Unusually obedient, Yohji's eyes fluttered open. "Maki?"

"Aya," Aya corrected, "just Aya."

"Maki… is she okay? She ran, I told her to run, and then…"

"Yohji, shh. Who's Maki?"

Huge green eyes gazed uncomprehendingly at Aya, swimming with tears.

"She ran," he said, hopelessly.

"Yohji," Aya began, but before he could finish his sentence Ken was back with the med kit.

"Is he awake?"

"Yes, but only just. Painkillers first, Ken. Then we'll sort out the dressing."

"Maki…" whispered Yohji, his eyes sliding shut.

* * * * * * *

"How's Yohji?" Omi looked up anxiously from his computer screen.

"He's sleeping," said Ken.

"How did you get on?" Aya noticed Omi had found the schedule. At least Yohji's efforts hadn't been in vain, then.

"Perfect! The three of them are getting together tonight."

"Tonight? But what about Yohji?"

"Leave him alone," said Aya, with his usual authority. "We can manage, if we have to."

Omi nodded, resigned as ever to Aya's lead. Ken looked a little more concerned, but Aya clearly wasn't taking opinions.

Yohji showed no signs of stirring when they left the Koneko that night. Omi looked in on him, and said he was sleeping, although Aya doubted it. But he didn't say anything. They set out in the thunder and rain to deliver Kritiker's justice in silence.

Looking up at the Riot building, garishly exposed in strobes of lightning, Aya felt a presence behind them, and wasn't surprised that it was Yohji. They exchanged an intense look; he noted the paleness of Yohji's face, the pain he was fighting, the wild hatred in his eyes.

Aya knew that hatred.

One more flash of power through the sky, and he led them to the kill.

* * * * * * *

Maki had been beautiful, Aya realised. Even bruised and broken, defiled by evidence of torture and death, it was clear she'd been beautiful. From the way Yohji was looking at her, she'd had something else about her, too. Perhaps she was more than just a shade of the dead Asuka, after all.

He turned away. Aya's relationship with Yohji was complicated, a perilous mire of undefined boundaries, but he knew this: that Yohji's affairs with women were destructive, and fickle, and nothing to do with Aya at all.

He left Yohji to his grief, Omi and Ken following him out of the room.

"I'm glad," said Ken. "Riot deserved to die, every last one of them. How could anyone do that to a girl? It was…"

"It happens. All the time." Aya leaned against the wall, waiting for Yohji, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's sick." Ken slid down to sit on the floor, fiddling with some mechanism in his bugnuks.

"How did Yohji know her?" Omi asked, "did he know her from before? He really cared for her, ne?"

Aya regarded Omi through narrowed eyes. The young assassin was perceptive, especially when it came to his teammates. "He rescued her. That's all I know. And it must've been her who brought him back and called us."

"Hai. So she rescued him back, in a way. And got herself captured again…"

"What a stupid waste." Ken kicked one booted heel against the floor.

Yohji appeared at the door, then. He and Aya exchanged a nod.

Wordlessly, Aya led them home.

* * * * * * *

Back at the Koneko Yohji went straight to his room, and Aya didn't follow. It was too early, he knew. Yohji needed to sleep, and to let the memory of the killing and the bitter, fruitless revenge fade a little. Then he would be able to talk, for a short while, and then it would be too late, and he'd be Yohji again, flirting and pretending and slacking.

Aya knew these things because, like the others, he lived them every day. They all had their own ways of trying to cope; Omi's denial, Ken's temper, Aya's silence and Yohji's escape.

None of them worked, not really.

"Aya-kun? I was going to make tea, if you'd like some?"

Omi's sky-blue eyes looked up at him, a little sad.

Aya nodded. "Thanks, Omi."

The youngest assassin scuttled off to the kitchen.

Ken threw himself into the sofa, remote in his hand. "I don't understand how anyone would get their rocks off killing or maiming women," he said, flicking through channels to find anything that remotely resembled sport. "It's unbelievably sick."

"It's about power," said Aya, sitting in the armchair and retrieving his book from under a cushion. "Like rape. It's nothing to do with sex."

Ken looked at him, startled. It wasn't like Aya to offer a view on such things. "But those women didn't have power to start with," he said, "they were tied, or drugged, or just weak. They didn't stand a chance. Where's the power in that?"

"In _making_ them that powerless," said Aya. "Making them desperate enough that they'll work for dangerous people, doing dangerous things, without questioning, just for a living. Eventually they believe they're worthless anyway, the guilt and the sin have eaten away at their souls and they don't think they deserve any better. That's when they lose their power. The killing's just the natural end of it all."

Ken wrenched his eyes back from Aya's intense violet eyes to the television.

"I still don't see why. Why do they need all that power? How can they get anything out of breaking people? How…"

Ken was interrupted by Omi rushing back into the room.

"Aya-kun, I'm worried about Yohji-kun. He wouldn't answer his door. I think he's locked it."

"Just leave him alone," Aya opened his book, running his index finger cleanly between the pages.

"Aya-kun, please. I'm worried. He was screaming. What if his fever's back?"

Aya looked up, sharply. "Screaming?"

Omi nodded, and added, softly: "Asuka."

Aya rose wordlessly, and headed for the stairs.

* * * * * * *

The door was only locked with a key, not bolted from the inside. Yohji hadn't wanted to keep everyone out, then.

"Yohji, it's Aya. Let me in."

He waited a few moments, then heard the lock clicking open, and the door swung in. Yohji padded back towards the bed without looking at him. He wore only sweatpants, and Aya got a glimpse of a tearstained face before he turned away.

Yohji sat cross-legged on the bed, and reached for his cigarettes.

"Omi said you were screaming. Are you okay?" asked Aya in the same matter-of-fact way that he might have asked Yohji if he was sneezing from catching cold.

"I must have been dreaming. I fell straight asleep, damn painkillers, and… it must have been a dream."

Aya joined him on the bed, folding long legs easily underneath himself. "Asuka," he said, watching Yohji carefully.

Yohji nodded, scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "She died in front of me," he said, "all over again. I hadn't… it's been a while."

"It's not surprising," said Aya, soothing. "Maki…"

"I know. I know. I don't suppose there's anything to drink in the house, is there?"

"You mustn't drink," Aya reminded him. "Not with those painkillers."

"Oh yes, that's right," said Yohji, with a trace of bitterness. "I must remember to thank Kenken for giving me the 'no alcohol or operating heavy machinery' ones."

"They're the only ones strong enough," Aya admonished him, gently. "It's not Ken's fault."

Yohji sighed. "I know," he said. "But he makes a good scapegoat."

"Omi's making tea."

Yohji pulled a face. "I'm not that thirsty," he said.

There was a pause, before Aya said: "tell me about Maki."

Yohji sighed out a lungfull of smoke, ran his tongue over dry lips.

"I only spent one day with her," he said, "I can't really say I knew her. She was sad. She was full of life, curious, kind. She didn't deserve to die."

"She'll be the last. Riot won't kill any more," said Aya, his voice steady and low.

"No." Yohji leaned towards the ashtray, wincing as his wound pulled. "But others will. Or worse."

Aya couldn't answer that. You couldn't be in Weiß for long without being aware that the world was a bottomless pool of dark beasts, and even more so of those other, more ambiguous beasts, the ones who may not have earned Kritiker's brand of justice, but still eluded the other kind. Causing endless pain and suffering. Endless evil.

"She reminded you of Asuka."

"Yes," said Yohji, quietly. "She was funny, and spirited, like Asuka. And bright. And she looked after me, like Asuka did. . . And I let her die, like. . ."

"Yohji. . ." Aya's warning tone.

"If I'd helped her escape straight away, or if I'd not waited for that stupid download. . ."

"Yohji, you were on a mission. Thanks to you, and Maki, Riot are gone. There won't be any more Makis. You saved countless women."

"But if. . ."

"There's no point." Aya reached out a hand to stroke Yohji's hair, pulling it back from his shoulders into an unbound pony tail. "We completed the mission. That's all."

Yohji slumped. "I know," he whispered. "But. . ."

"Shhh. . ." Aya shifted his touch to Yohji's back, rubbing gently in small circles.

"Aya. . ." Yohji turned pleading eyes to Aya, vivid green and swimming with unshed tears; "will you stay?"

Aya nodded.

"Thank you," Yohji squeezed Aya's hand.

"Get rid of that cigarette and get into bed," said Aya. "You need sleep."

Yohji obediently crushed the burning embers into his already-full ashtray, and slid under the covers Aya was holding back for him. He watched as Aya got undressed, slowly unbuttoning shirt and pants, slipping cotton over lithe limbs, carefully folding. Finally, clad only in soft cotton underwear, he slid into Yohji's bed and took him in his arms.

Yohji was warm, and felt good tucked against Aya's body. Lying on his uninjured side, he eased one leg over Aya's thigh, one gangly arm over his stomach. Aya resumed his stroking of Yohji's back, soft and reassuring.

"I'll get the light," he said, shifting to reach the switch.

"No," said Yohji, "not yet."

Aya turned to him, surprised. "You want to sleep with the light on?"

"No," Yohji's voice sounded a little like his teasing one. "I don't want to sleep, just yet."

"Oh, Yohji," sighed Aya. "You're wounded, you stupid bastard."

"I just want. . . please, Aya? I'm fine, really. I could. . ."

Aya silenced him with his mouth, kissing Yohji softly. He felt the familiar desire wash over him as it always did when he held this slender body in his arms; Yohji's knowing tongue was sliding easily between Aya's lips, tasting of cigarettes and coffee. They both knew that kissing him like that was the best chance Yohji had to persuade Aya of anything.

"You have a gunshot wound. I don't want to hurt you," Aya murmured. "You need _sleep_, Yohji."

"You won't hurt me. Aya, please?" Yohji turned on the full force of his pleading emerald gaze.

"All right. Let me turn the light off, and I'll think about it," Aya conceded, one hand gently rubbing Yohji's arm. "OK?"

"Alright," Yohji agreed, and released Aya long enough for him to throw the light switch.

They settled back into each other, eyes adjusting to the new dark.

"OK?" said Aya, brushing Yohji's hair back, stroking the side of his face.

"Yes," said Yohji, moving one hand up to tease one of Aya's nipples, his eyes fluttering closed at the approach of Aya's kiss. He moaned softly, losing himself in warmth and touch.

Aya could feel Yohji's arousal, quick as ever, quick as his own, pressing into his thigh through his thin fabric. He stroked one hand down Yohji's side, bringing sleepy flesh to life with his firm touch, sweeping over his hip and dipping under elastic and cotton to greet Yohji's waiting sex.

He felt Yohji's own hand smoothing down his belly, on its way to return the compliment, and broke their kiss. "No, Yohji. Just relax. This is just for you."

Yohji whimpered in reply, too confounded by desire and drowse to argue. He rested his hand over Aya's belly button, and reclaimed his mouth, sliding his tongue in again, cigarettes and coffee, and Yohji. . .

Aya massaged his cock carefully, not too gently but not too harshly, caressing the head with its sheath, long, loose strokes. Yohji simply melted at his touch, hips rolling slightly in rhythm, whimpers turning to moans of pleasure. Aya kissed his eyelids, his nose, the soft skin of his cheeks and jaw, his throat.

"Aya. . . want you . . ."

"No, Yohji," Aya made his name sound like a honeyed breeze, "this is for you. Just for you." He increased the pressure a little, as if to squeeze all thought from Yohji's mind and just let him feel. . .

Yohji responded with a moan, raising his head a little for a deep kiss, his fingertips fluttering slightly over Aya's belly. His sex was hard and eager in Aya's hand, pulsing life.

Aya stroked him steadily, kissed him tenderly, held him close, and loved him.

Yohji didn't scream like he usually did, when he came. He buried his face in Aya's neck, his open mouth and hot breath caressing Aya's skin, and whispered: "Aya . . . oh, God, Aya, so good . . . Aya," and then his body stiffened, and he spurted into Aya's waiting hand, over and over, still breathing his name.

Finally his body trembled to limp, and Yohji raised Aya's slick hand to his own lips, licked palm and fingers clean.

"Let me. . ." he whispered, his hand snaking under the covers again, but Aya caught it, and held it once more over his belly. His centre. His ki.

"Sleep, Yohji," he breathed, putting his own insistent arousal out of his mind. "Sleep without dreams," he murmured, fluttering kisses through Yohji's hair.

Exhausted, spent and warm, Yohji slept, while Aya guarded him from nightmare.


	3. 2: Beg

"Did you get anything?"

"Hello to you too, Aya," Yohji strode across the shop to where Aya stood counting the day's takings into neat piles by the cash register. "I had a great day, how about you?"

Aya glared at him with his eyes, but let the tiniest of smiles play on his lips. "Well? Any news on where we can find Koga?"

Yohji sighed, standing behind Aya and sliding his arms easily around his narrow waist. "Work, work, work. Is that all you ever think about?" He nuzzled the soft patch of skin where Aya's shoulder met his neck, a thrill shooting up his spine as he spotted the fading bruise his own mouth had put there just a day or two ago.

"One of us has to," Aya murmured, entering totals to the little cash book in his small, neat handwriting. "We do have a mission, after all."

"For your information," Yohji nibbled gently at Aya's earlobe, taking huge pleasure in the way it made Aya's body nestle back into his, "I've been a very busy Balinese. I even went to the gym."

Aya snorted. "Why, exactly? I presume you weren't planning on working out yourself?"

"It's the place Koga goes. You did read the contents of that lovely envelope Manx gave us yesterday, I presume? It said he's well-built, fit, for a guy his age. So he must build himself somewhere. And I found out where. Only he has bodyguards with him the whole time. Still. Nothing we couldn't deal with. Mmmm… you smell good. Have you been doing those jasmine arrangements again?"

"They sell well. So, where's this gym?"

"See, you're interested now," Yohji nudged at the neckline of Aya's lace-up shirt with his nose, pushing it out of the way to expose more of the ivory shoulder underneath. "It's not far from their offices. It has an underground car park that should do for our purposes. Lots of shadows, that kind of thing. I have his schedule."

"You have been busy." There was rare approval in Aya's voice, among other things.

"See, I told you. There was this really cute redhead at the gym. She was very helpful."

Aya stiffened slightly. "I'm sure she was," he said, gruffly.

"I've always had a way with redheads," Yohji whispered, running his tongue over Aya's shoulder and towards his neck.

"Hn." Aya made as if to escape from Yohji's arms, but gave up rather feebly as soon as Yohji tightened his hold. "We can work on the mission plan tonight, then," he said.

"Hey," Yohji protested, "no fair. I did all that hard detective stuff and I still have to do more work? Can't Omi do it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Aya snorted, still smarting a little from Yohji's provocation, "of course not. He has homework."

"Well, at least you didn't want to do it right now," Yohji drawled, "I have something else in mind for right now."

"I'm glad you've got something to occupy you, then," said Aya. "I might be able to finish cashing up."

"Don't be silly," husked Yohji, kissing softly up Aya's neck and behind his ear. "Come to bed with me, Aya."

"Yohji…"

"Don't give me any of that 'work to do' crap. I know you want me."

"I have to…"

"Come to bed, love. Or I'm going to have to make you take me right here, bent over the counter, where Omi could find us any minute. I think that would definitely put him off his homework, don't you?"

Aya leaned back into Yohji's body, relishing the feeling of Yohji's hardness pressing against him. "Alright, but I have to put the takings away first," he said. "You go on up. I won't be long."

"Promise?" Yohji teased at Aya's belt with dextrous fingers. "Only if you're not up in ten minutes I'll just come down and drag you away from all this exciting accountancy by force."

"I'll be there. Go on. I can't count while you're doing that."

Yohji smirked triumphantly at the admission, reluctantly withdrawing his arms and dragging himself from the delicious warmth of the other man's body. "Ten minutes," he reminded, as he walked away. "I mean it."

Aya smiled to himself, and resumed his task with faintly trembling hands.

* * * * * * *

He'd just finished when Ken returned.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Thanks for taking my shift."

"I didn't," said Aya, matter-of-factly, locking the till and putting the cash book neatly on its shelf under the counter. "Omi did. I just cashed up so he could get to school in time to hand in an assignment."

"Damn. I'm sorry. He had to miss school? Again?"

"Yes. Have you decided what you want to do about the mission?"

Ken looked away, folding his arms across his chest, hugging his hands under his armpits. "No," he said. "I just need more time. Just another day, or…"

"You have twenty four hours," said Aya, "that's all Manx will tolerate. You know the rules."

"But Manx doesn't understand…"

"Can you finish locking up?" Aya interrupted. "I've got things to do upstairs."

"'Course." Ken shrugged off his jacket, searching the pockets for his shop keys. "Is Yohji back?"

"Yes," said Aya.

"It means a lot to me," Ken said as he crossed to the window shutters, tossing his keys in the air and catching them neatly, "that you and Yohji supported me in this."

"You must be committed to the mission," said Aya. "We all must."

Ken turned thoughtfully to him, a question on his lips, but Aya had already gone.

* * * * * * *

Yohji lay fully dressed on his bed, legs crossed at the ankles, one arm behind his head, the other holding his cigarette.

He was grinning.

"Glad you could make it," he said.

"Ken just got back," said Aya.

"Oh. That's nice. Come here." He patted the patch of bed beside him.

"Kase is an old friend of his," Aya continued, pulling his top over his head as he approached the bed. "I think maybe more than a friend."

Yohji raised an eyebrow, curiosity twinkling in his eyes. "Really? Our Ken?"

"Just a hunch," Aya shrugged, undoing his belt slowly.

"My, there's a surprise." Yohji put out his cigarette, not taking his eyes off Aya for a moment. "What's he like?"

"Kase? Kase is a target," said Aya. "You've seen the photos."

"Yes, but what's he_ like_?"

"I thought you didn't want to work." Aya joined Yohji on the bed, rolling onto his side as Yohji slipped an arm around his shoulders.

"I don't, love, but I'm curious as to what hot young stud might seduce our Kenken, and, frankly, Kase didn't look very studly."

"Less talk," Aya started to unbutton Yohji's shirt, "more sex."

"My, but someone's horny today," Yohji drawled, teasing his fingertips along the outline of Aya's bare shoulder blade. "Is it the thought of our Ken gettin' all naked and steamy with a potential target…"

"No." Aya said firmly, putting the image Yohji had just planted in his mind firmly to one side. "Not Ken. Just you. You're damn hot." He pushed the soft cotton vest away from Yohji's lean chest and stomach, and darted out his tongue to assault one nipple.

Yohji purred with satisfaction, at the sentiment as well as the touch. Aya rarely paid compliments of any kind, which he knew made them all the more precious to Yohji, who got effusive flattery all too readily elsewhere.

Aya licked his way across to the other nipple, tweaking the one he'd just left gently between thumb and forefinger, and sliding his other hand down Yohji's belly to flip open the buttons of his jeans. The tight, black jeans, that fit him perfectly, sitting low on his hips to reveal flat stomach and a tempting hint of hipbone... Yohji slid his arms out of his shirt and pulled his vest over his head, raising himself off the bed to help Aya peel his jeans and underwear off, holding his breath as Aya straddled his thighs, looking down at him and licking his lips.

"Fuck, Aya…"

Aya consumed the sight of Yohji, naked and beautiful under him, with hungry eyes. Golden skin, rapid pulse-beat at throat and chest, a tiny freckle at the top of one thigh, his cock rising rock-hard from it's nest of dark blonde curls. It was more than inspiring, this vision of Yohji wanting him so blatantly, and the constriction of his own jeans was getting uncomfortable around his throbbing erection, but for a moment he couldn't move, bound by delicious anticipation.

Yohji looked up at him, eyes darkened to emerald with lust. "Oh God, Aya. You're so…"

Aya inclined his head to one side, a faint smile on his lips. "So.. what?"

"Sexy," Yohji ran his eyes down Aya's body, "sexy, and hot and… too damn _dressed_."

"Hn." Aya started to undo his jeans, stopping after the first button, teasing. He took satisfaction in the way Yohji groaned and arched under him, reaching out to finish the job himself. Aya held himself just out of range, shuffling back a little and taking hold of Yohji's hips to keep him still. He bent his head to kiss that lone freckle, one of his favourite landmarks on the lean body beneath him, inhaling the musky scent of Yohji's arousal. Aya's hair fell forwards, striping pale flesh crimson, tickling already-quivering skin as he brushed kisses from thigh to belly, and finally to Yohji's erection. With moist lips and tongue he moved Yohji's foreskin back from the leaking head of his cock, licking carefully around the sensitive ridges and sweeping his tongue over the slit at the end to relish the taste of his juices.

"Oh God, Aya, you _know_, you _always_ know…"

Aya replied by engulfing Yohji's entire length in liquid heat, taking him all the way down his throat, inch by inch, until his nose nestled in the tight angle where Yohji's cock met his groin. He settled his tongue against the underside of Yohji's erection and started to move his head, giving a few complete strokes before settling for just a mouthful, taking the root in one strong fist, giving himself room to taste and lick and suck.

Yohji's long fingers tangled in the hair that haunted his every waking dream, moaning softly, rolling his hips to thrust gently into Aya's mouth.

There was a knock on the door.

Aya froze, listening, unwilling to give up the pleasure of a mouth full of Yohji. He looked up at his lover through ragged bangs, absently sliding his tongue back and forth, but at the same time hoping Yohji still had the presence of mind to remember that they were in the middle of a mission, and should answer the knock.

There was another rap on the door, even as Yohji slowly slid his eyes half open.

"What!" he yelled, holding Aya's unresisting head in place, the quivering of his belly at odds with the steadiness of his voice.

"Is Aya in there?" came Ken's voice. "I've got Manx on the phone, she wants him."

"I bet she does," Yohji muttered, "and she's not alone. " He raised his voice: "what for?"

"I don't know," said Ken, impatiently. "For goodness' sake, Yohji, can he come to the phone or not?"

Um…" Yohji's eyes went wide as Aya shook his head, for a number of reasons. "No, um… I'll get him to call her back. He's… er…"

"It's alright, I can imagine, not that I really want to…" Ken's voice faded, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating down the steps.

Yohji looked at Aya for a moment. "_Him_ and Kase?"

Aya shrugged, holding Yohji's eyes with his own as his tongue continued to move firmly over the underside of Yohji's cock, and started to suck.

Yohji gasped, his head thumping back onto pillows, Ken forgotten again. Aya cupped Yohji's balls gently in one hand, softly stroking the sensitive skin behind them with his fingertips. He lost himself for a while, working with the rhythm of Yohji's body, responding to the familiar rise and fall of hips and the slowly thrusting heat in his mouth.

"Aya, love, stop, please… I want you inside me… please…"

Aya released Yohji from his mouth, moving lower to nuzzle his way down the side of his balls and beneath, pressing his tongue firmly into the flesh he'd been tickling with his fingers and licking in a clean sweep down to his anus. He reached one hand up Yohji's body in a broad, firm stroke, then turned it palm uppermost. He raised his head, briefly, to say "lube" before he resumed the soft, teasing licks that made it almost impossible for Yohji to think, let alone do anything. Nonetheless, he managed to retrieve a fat tube from under the pillow and slap it in Aya's hand with a grunt.

Aya prepared him quickly, warming the gel a little in his palm before spreading it around Yohji's entrance, pushing just inside with strong fingers. His own breath was coming fast now, his heart thudding in his chest. He swiftly undid the remaining buttons of his jeans, but lacked the patience to do more than push them down his hips far enough to free his own erection, slathering it with lube, hissing air between his teeth at the combined shock of touch and cold on his neglected flesh.

Yohji was watching him, coming up to sitting, magnetically drawn by the sight of Aya's blatant desire. Aya knelt between his legs, eartails brushing his shoulders, stroking himself luxuriously, and more than was strictly necessary to slick his cock. "Come here," he growled, and held out one hand to pull Yohji into his lap. Yohji came eagerly, settling his legs comfortably astride Aya's, supporting himself with firm hands clasping Aya's knees. Aya surveyed him critically for a moment, then reached out to rip his hair tie off, letting out a grunt of approval as Yohji shook his head, soft dirty-blond locks settling to frame his face.

"Better," said Aya, and captured Yohji's gaze with his own as he guided him with gentle hands on his hips, slowly impaling him. He paused just past the first resistant ring of muscle to give his lover time to adjust, but Yohji had other ideas: his mouth curled into a grin as he slid himself down the rest of the way in one go, lazily draping his arms over Aya's shoulders as he squirmed to the very root of Aya's cock. Then he stopped, with a satisfied sigh, and waited, eyes steady on Aya's, only the slightest tremble of his body and the bead of precome dripping down his erection giving away the intensity of his desire.

Aya fought to keep his eyes open, determined not to be the first to give in to complete abandonment, wanting to keep focused on Yohji, not just the tight heat of his insides, but the look of him, the flush of his cheeks, his lips moist and slightly parted, long lashes fluttering as he moved closer to cover Aya's mouth with his own. Aya twined his tongue around Yohji's, revelling in the familiar flavours, and started to move his hips in the rhythm of their kiss. Yohji threw himself back then, trusting Aya to catch him neatly round the waist and support him as he writhed against him. Aya slid steadily in and out, transfixed by the wanton, sensual creature in front of him. Yohji crossed his legs behind Aya's back, using the leverage to match his thrusts, eyes closed, head thrown back.

He looked so, so beautiful.

Aya held him in place with his sword arm, freeing the other to circle his cock with warm fingers and stroke firmly. Yohji groaned and arched, soft hair falling back from his face, completely abandoned.

Still, Aya couldn't close his eyes. He wanted to remember Yohji, like this, forever. Aya was a man who appreciated details, and so he drank in the way Yohji's breath fluttered in his chest; the sweat-soaked curls that clung to his flushed cheeks, the subtle counter-rhythm of his hips that meant he met Aya's thrusts and took his own pleasure at the same time; the exact words that spilled from his mouth, the way he pronounced his name.

"That's it, love… oh, Aya, you're so good, so good, so hard inside me, so big and hard… feels so good… oh fuck, oh God, oh fuck, Aya…"

"Come for me, Yohji," said Aya, softly.

Yohji made a little whine of protest. "No, want more, more…"

"Really? You want me to stop for a while?" Aya froze, his hand firm but immobile around Yohji's desperate erection, his own cock buried deep inside Yohji's body. He twitched it once, devilishly.

"Oh God…"

"Changed your mind, Yohji?"

"But… oh, fuck, Aya…"

"I can wait all day if you want."

Yohji thrashed his head from side, eyes tightly shut. "Oh, no, love, no, please, I'll come for you, I promise, just move and don't stop, please don't stop…"

Aya smiled to himself, and started to move again, more urgently now, eager to see his lover reach his climax, knowing that the only thing more beautiful than this vision of Yohji was Yohji in the throes of orgasm.

"Aya… fuck… oh… that's it… you feel so… oh," his voice dropped almost an octave, "fuck yes, yes, yes…"

Yohji's sleek body stretched back, and he spurted thick ropes of come, the first few hitting his neck, then his chest and finally his belly, his legs clamped around Aya's waist almost painfully.

Aya's eyes slowly slid shut; he gripped Yohji's hip and gave three final thrusts before he let himself go, his hot seed rushing from his body and into Yohji's, his whole body convulsing with blinding pleasure. After the first rush he kept thrusting with every pulse of his cock, pulling Yohji onto him to get as deep as he possibly could each time.

Eventually he stopped moving, his breathing slowing, sweat cooling on his skin, and his eyes shuttered open. Yohji was watching him, propped up on his elbows, a huge grin on his face. Aya let out a long breath, and reached out his hand, dabbling his fingers tenderly through the pools of come cooling on Yohji's skin. "You always come so much," said Aya, admiringly, even faintly envious. "I don't know where you keep it all."

Yohji resisted the urge to laugh; it was such a deliciously un-Aya-like thing for Aya to say. "It's all yours," he said.

Aya sighed, but didn't argue. He continued to trace patterns through the wetness, ignoring the faint cramping in his folded legs.

"It's good," he said, distantly, and brought his slick fingers to his mouth to taste. "Very good," he confirmed, with a sly smile.

"God, Aya, …" Yohji's cock twitched, already half-hard again.

"Want some?" Aya scooped up some more with his index finger and offered it to Yohji, groaning softly as Yohji sucked it into his wet mouth, tormenting the pad of Aya's fingertip with his tongue.

Finally, Aya's leg cramped enough to convince the rest of his body that it had to move, and he slid gently out of Yohji and stretched out beside him, kicking tangled jeans and underwear off his feet.

Yohji curled into Aya's side, one hand fisted loosely over his chest.

"Don't go to sleep, Kudoh," said Aya, gruffly. "I've got to call Manx, remember?"

"Hn. Let her wait," said Yohji, unrealistically, snuggling into Aya's neck.

"We're on a…"

"… mission. Yeah, I know. Fucking Creepers and… hey, do you really think Ken and Kase…"

"I followed him, today. He met with Kase outside his office building, it was a bit of a reunion. There was… well, hugging. And tears."

"You followed him? But you said he should sort it out for himself…"

"If he's attached to a target I need to know why."

"But…"

"I don't think Kase was as pleased to see him as he seemed to be."

"Oh. What, a lover's tiff?"

"No, more than that. It was like Kase saw a ghost."

"Well, technically, I suppose he did… so what's Ken going to do?"

"I don't know," said Aya. "He'll have to decide soon, though, or Manx'll decide for him."

Yohji shivered.

"Which reminds me," Aya kissed the top of Yohji's head, taking a last breath of Yohji's scent: shampoo, cigarettes and sex. "I have to go call her."

Yohji grunted disapproval as Aya moved away but didn't follow, post-coital drowse finally catching up with him. He was only faintly aware of the comforter being pulled over his naked body, and by the time Aya left the room, clicking the door quietly shut behind him, Yohji was fast asleep.

* * * * * * *

"Aya-kun, you're back! I'm afraid Yohji has bad news…" Omi's huge eyes looked troubled; his fingers curled protectively on the mouse as he scanned the screen in front of him.

Aya raised an eyebrow at Yohji. "Really?"

"Someone spooked the target," Yohji smiled warmly at him, although he was plainly irritated. "And after we finished the mission plan and all."

"After who finished the mission plan?"

"You. Well… I would've helped, really I would, only I fell asleep," he smirked.

"Hn. Well, that's no surprise," said Aya.

"That I fell asleep?" Yohji looked shocked for a moment, before it sank in that Aya had intended no innuendo. "Oh. The target."

"We have to find him again," said Aya. "And Kase."

"But Aya-kun," Omi turned from the computer for a moment, "if Ken-kun… if he gets in the way of the mission..."

"Don't ask, Omi," said Aya. "You know what happens. We all do."

"We'll talk to him," promised Yohji. "He'll see sense. Don't worry, Omi. Let's just see if we can track down Koga, eh?"

Omi turned back to his search with a heavy heart.

* * * * * * *

"You never learn."

The door slammed as Ken rushed out into the night.

There was a heavy silence.

"Ken-kun…" Omi stared sadly at the space where Ken had just been.

"What now?" said Yohji, his voice flat. "Koga or Kase?"

Aya leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Whichever we find first," he said.

"But Ken…" Yohji began.

"I suggest you both start looking," Aya interrupted, ignoring the way Yohji bristled at his brusque order. "We have a mission to complete."

"But Aya-kun…" Omi looked suddenly very young, tears welling in his eyes as he looked pleadingly at Aya.

"Omi, Ken is in danger," Aya said. "Kase knows. He'll try and kill Ken if we don't get to him first. Now, get to work."

Omi nodded, brushing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Yes, Aya-kun."

It was nearly two in the morning when they heard Ken's motorbike purring to its home in the garage.

By the time Ken got to the mission room, pulling off gloves and helmet and shaking out dark tousled hair, there was no-one else there.

He sank down on the couch, throwing his jacket over the back, and curled up into a ball, burying his face in his arms. His shoulders started to shake, and he sobbed quietly, tired and wretched, and hopeless.

In the shadows of the stairs, Aya stood silently, and watched Ken cry himself to sleep.

* * * * * * *

"Is he conscious yet?" Aya checked the back seat in his rear view mirror, where Ken was laid out with his head in Yohji's lap. " We need to know where Kase went, if he has any idea."

"No, he's still out cold. Trust Ken to hit his head when he fell. He needs kevlar for his brain, never mind the rest of him."

"Alright, we'll have to go back to the Koneko. Maybe Omi's found out something by now."

"He can't stay asleep forever," said Yohji. "Although maybe it would be better if he did. We could complete the mission and…"

"No… no, Yohji…" Ken murmured. His eyes flickered open at last. "I must complete the mission. It's my fault Kase got away. It was all my fault. Aya was right."

"Well, that happens," Yohji smiled at his younger team-mate, holding him down with one hand on his chest as he tried to get up. "It's annoying though, it's more fun when he's wrong, ne?"

Ken smiled weakly. "I wouldn't know," he said.

"I can hear you, you know" said Aya. "Where is he likely to go, Ken?"

"He'll turn up at the Creepers building again sooner or later," said Ken. "He doesn't know about Weiss, I don't think. He just wanted Koga's power."

Aya considered this for a moment. "It's up to you, then," he said. "It's your mission."

"Tonight," said Ken, sadly. "I'll go tonight. As soon as it gets dark. And wait for him."

"Good," said Yohji, "but this time we come too, right, Baka?"

"If you insist," said Ken, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

* * * * * * *

Sometimes the killing was the easy part.

Aya watched as Ken stood over Kase and listened to him beg for his life.

That man had been Ken's friend. His lover. His team-mate.

Aya could see the betrayal reflected in Ken's eyes, warring with compassion and the vestiges of love. Kase grovelled and cried and pleaded, and Aya could see Ken's pain. He knew how much he wanted to forgive Kase and love him again.

But he had learned.

For once, he had learned.

This time Ken wasn't surprised when Kase shot him. There was pain, but no surprise. There was no choice, then. The killing came easy.

Ken turned his face to Aya, cheeks wet with tears, hands wet with blood.

"This is Hell, too."

Sometimes the killing was the easy part. It was what came before, or after, that hurt.

They waited for as long as they dared, giving Ken the space he seemed to need, but eventually Omi reached out a hand to his team-mate's shoulder, and they slowly walked away.

* * * * * * *

Aya lay in Yohji's bed that night, as he often did after missions, holding his lover close to his sated body. He hated to admit it, but he knew they both needed the reassurance of another heartbeat on those dark nights.

"Ken's going to be a mess for a while," said Yohji, tracing a spiral across Aya's smooth chest.

"Hn."

"Do you think he knows we know? About him and Kase?"

"That they were lovers? I don't know."

"You think we should ask? I mean it's bad enough, to have an old friend betray you like that, but a lover… and to kill him… and have no-one to talk to…"

"He'll deal with it."

"Maybe." Yohji yawned. "I could always fix him up with someone to take his mind off things."

"I don't think Ken's going to be looking for anyone for a while," said Aya. "Leave him alone."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Yohji snuggled into the warmth of Aya's body. "You never know when the right person might come along."

Aya snorted at this sudden outburst of romantic optimism. It sounded like the sort of thing Aya-chan used to say. _"No, not that stupid sweater, oniichan, wear the blue shirt, you never know who you might meet."_

Aya felt the sudden, familiar pain like a stab in the chest. Aya…

"Aya? You OK? You got goosebumps."

Aya took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady as he answered. "It's nothing, Yohji. Go to sleep."

"You sure, love? You're very tense all of a sudden."

"It's just … it's been a tense few days."

"Well, if it might help… I could think of some ways to relax you…" Yohji's hand started to snake down under the covers.

Aya moaned softly, kissing Yohji's hair.

"Yes. Oh, God," he sucked air in as he felt Yohji's fingers fluttering lightly over his rapidly hardening cock. "Yes…"

He surrendered himself to Yohji's touch, letting him wash away the hurt with his knowing hands, losing himself in sensation and the heat of Yohji's caresses.

"That's it, Aya love… you feel so good, so hard… does that feel good to you, when I do that… and that…"

Aya grunted in reply to Yohji's rhetorical questions, but it always turned him on so much, hearing Yohji talk to him, telling him how good it felt, as if it made it more real, not just fantasy. It told him that in this moment, at least, Yohji was here, and his.

He felt Yohji's own erection hard against his thigh, and rolled over to press his against it.

"Oh, God, that's just… oh God… oh yes, Yohji, please, Yohji, please…"

"Anything, love. You feel so good… so beautiful… oh Aya…"

Yohji took them both in his hands then, friction from all sides enflaming Aya's senses to the point where he came helplessly over both their cocks and Yohji's hands. Yohji continued to stroke their newly-slicked flesh until he came too, still murmuring in Aya's ear, barely coherent but making it perfectly clear just how good Aya made him feel. Gradually they stilled, and Aya realised he was listening to Yohji's sleeping breath.

Thought banished for once, Aya was soon breathing the same rhythm.


	4. 3: Driven

Everything had changed.

Omi was a Takatori.

Omi had let the target get away.

Omi had pointed a weapon at Aya with a trembling hand, and let Takatori Hirofumi get away.

Omi's brother.

Takatori.

Aya turned onto his side with a grunt, squinting at the sunlight that blazed through the window into his room. He pulled the pillow to his chest, catching the faintest scent of Yohji on the crisp cotton.

From yesterday, he remembered, without smiling. From yesterday afternoon, when he'd been getting changed for the mission, and Yohji had come in with heat in his eyes and pushed Aya against the wall, kissing him roughly, fingers fiercely clutching his skull, twisting in his hair. When Yohji had peeled his jeans open, just enough to fish out his hardening cock, bringing him fully erect with a few swift strokes.

And it had been too much for Aya to take, this aggressive, needing Yohji.

Yohji had been that way ever since Neu. Once Yohji had seen the eyes of his dead Asuka behind Neu's mask, all he'd wanted was oblivion. Not the languid caresses or soft kisses they'd begun companionably to enjoy before Schrient invaded their lives. The nightmares had returned, and with them all Yohji's insecurity and pain. Only this time Aya's comfort didn't seem enough.

For the first time since Maki, Aya had smelt women on Yohji, and this time he couldn't bear it.

So yesterday, when Yohji had come here, to Aya's room, and demanded oblivion, he'd half-thrown his team-mate on his bed; he'd pinned his hands above his head and sat on his chest; he'd shoved his cock into Yohji's mouth, muffling any protest with a crude thrust of his hips. Yohji had glared at him, even as he'd made Aya's shaft throb with pleasure, his tongue busy and agile, his throat wet and tight. Aya had gripped Yohji's wrists tightly and let the pleasure build, rocking steadily into Yohji's mouth, until he'd felt the barest brush of fingertips against his anus.

"No."

He'd pulled out of Yohji's mouth then, moving back down his body, out of reach of Yohji's touch, stripping Yohji's pants off as he went.

"You know you want to," Yohji had purred. "Go on, love. Let me take you. Let me fuck you. Let me be the first."

"I thought you had women for fucking," Aya had replied, grasping Yohji's hips and turning him over, pulling Yohji back by his thighs so he was on all fours, his own tiny hole exposed to Aya's touch.

"I could extend my range," said Yohji. "It would be a first for both of us." Which might have been a lie.

"Never," snarled Aya, grabbing a tube of lubricant and a condom from the table by the bed and squirting a long line of clear gel down the crack of Yohji's ass.

He'd insisted on the condoms, once he'd found out that Yohji was seeing women again, however careful Yohji claimed to have been.

"You might like it," said Yohji, but his voice had lost it's usual seductiveness. It sounded flat and hard, and they both knew he'd already lost.

Then Aya had swiftly sheathed and slicked his own cock, and plunged into Yohji so fast it burned both of them. He could still feel it, now, twenty four hours later, the sharp edge of tenderness to his sensitive skin.

"Fuck, Aya!" protested Yohji, but he'd wiggled his hips back to take Aya all the way inside, just the same.

He and Yohji had fucked like dogs, right here on his bed, just yesterday; they had bucked and writhed together as if they were fighting each other, until they both came, Yohji first, catching his load in one hand, then Aya, pulling out at the last minute to pull off the condom and spatter Yohji's back with globs of white, marking him, for that moment, making him his.

Yohji hadn't said a word since Aya had first entered him, and he didn't say anything afterwards, either. There was no licking sated flesh clean, no collapsing in a tangle of shaking limbs onto the futon. Aya left him, face down on the bed, covered in come, his face buried in this pillow, _this_ pillow, that Aya now held, that still bore the trace of his scent to Aya's flaring nostrils. Aya had snagged a towel and gone to the bathroom to shower, slamming the door behind him.

When he'd returned, Yohji had already gone.

The mission had proceeded as usual; it was as if nothing had happened at all.

Perhaps nothing had.

* * * * * * *

"Well done, Aya. You reduced Omi to tears. How did you manage it this time?"

Aya continued to gaze at the ceiling, still and quiet.

"Aya, you bastard, you…"

"Takatori."

"Yeah, I know. So he said. So? It's still Omi."

Aya turned his head and looked at Yohji, leaning in the doorway, his back against the frame, arms folded across his chest, all long legs and dark blonde hair. Aya's traitorous breath caught in his throat. "Is it?"

Yohji just sighed.

"What the fuck is it with you and Takatoris anyway? What did they do to you, Aya?"

Aya turned away, staring at the window once more.

_Aya._

There was a silence; he began to wonder whether Yohji had given up and slipped away. Then he felt the dip of the futon behind him, the warmth of Yohji's body suddenly against his back.

"I'm sorry."

Aya's heart started to pound, and he hated it.

"Aya, I said…"

"I heard."

"It was just Asuka… Neu… whoever it was."

"What was?"

Yohji didn't hold him, he just carefully fit their bodies together, just touching his front to Aya's back, from their socked feet to the warmth of Yohji's breath against his neck.

"Yesterday. Before. Since… I behaved like a prick. I'm sorry."

Aya sighed. He wondered if Yohji was expecting a confession in return, or an apology. _I'm sorry I was mean to Omi, but he belongs to a family that took everything from me, everything, my family, my home, my future, and turned me into a killer. He got between me and revenge, and I can't trust him anymore_.

"I need you, Aya." Almost a whine.

Aya slowly reached back, and pulled Yohji's hand from where it lay between their bodies, draping it over his waist to rest on his belly. He felt Yohji's body relax, the puffs of breath came suddenly slower and deeper, and realised some of the tension had left his body, too.

That was a confession, of sorts. The only kind Yohji would be getting.

"Omi thinks the world of you," Yohji whispered in his ear. "And he's not responsible for what his family's done. Just think about it, Aya, please."

Aya said nothing.

* * * * * * *

Aya could sense Takatori Hirofumi in the corridor behind him, and he wanted to kill him.

He felt a rush of noise in his ears, and he couldn't concentrate.

It was easier when he didn't want it so badly.

He longed so much to feel the press of his katana against the man's skin, the fleeting resistance before the glorious, yielding moment when his sword sliced the flesh open and sank inside. He wanted to see crimson blood on that immaculate suit, and he wanted it to be the last blood the man ever shed. It felt like his destiny.

He moved without thinking, knowing it was dangerous, but unable to stop himself.

"Not yet."

Ken's voice, concerned, his hand firm on Aya's arm.

They were being watched.

"Too gloomy to be my fans," Yohji was saying, his drawl easy and casual but his eyes on Aya all the time, bright and alert.

The hairs on the back of Aya's neck bristled as Hirofumi passed the two white-suited body guards at the end of the corridor and moved out of sight.

"The exit," Ken murmured, "this way."

Aya caught a flash of orange hair and mocking eyes before he turned to follow Yohji and Ken. He shuddered.

He forced himself to stand still and watch Takatori Hirofumi be driven away, memorising the vision of him, looking forward to the moment he'd bring about his death.

"What are we going to do now?" Yohji asked. "The target's Omi's _brother_. This isn't going to be easy."

_Surely he didn't think there was actually a choice?_

Aya wanted to kill.

_For her. For Aya._

"I don't care who's family it is," said Aya, coldly. "I will complete the mission."

He felt Yohji's concerned eyes on him, but it made no difference.

* * * * * * *

Yohji was waiting for him when he got home. Omi's bike was in the garage: he must have got back first, while Aya was still walking down by the Bay, avoiding the moment when he would be asked to explain to Yohji.

This moment.

Their eyes met briefly as Aya passed through the kitchen; he moved to the stairs and started to climb them, all the time expecting Yohji to speak his name. It didn't happen until he was half way up.

"Aya."

He kept moving, two more steps.

"Aya, it's not Omi's fault."

Aya froze. Of course, Omi would have told them about the hospital. He would think they had a right to know, because it might affect the mission. Of course.

"She's my sister, Kudoh, I have no choice."

There was a pause.

"Who's your sister, Aya?" Confused. Surprised.

Aya turned back, a frown on his face.

"In the hospital, where Omi…"

Yohji didn't know. Yohji hadn't known. Omi hadn't told him

Aya had told him himself, just now, without even meaning to. A secret kept so long, wasted on a guilty fear.

So he had to explain. He owed Yohji that much.

He sat on the stairs, halfway up, halfway down, and told Yohji about his parents, about the house blowing up, about Aya-chan, about his revenge.

Yohji moved forwards slowly as Aya spoke, as if stalking a frightened animal, until he knelt on the step below the one where Aya sat, his long fingers gently settling at the sides of Aya's thighs. Yohji's eyes seemed huge, misted with unshed tears. Aya contemplated those tears with horror; he'd expected anger, perhaps, that he hadn't told them before, or possibly sympathy, but this, this genuine pain was more than Aya could bear. And it raised a surge of hope in him that he didn't understand at all.

"We're the same," whispered Yohji, eagerly. "We both kill for… we both lost someone we loved."

"No. Nothing like the same," he said, coldly, his heart sinking again. "Aya is alive. Asuka is dead, Yohji."

"But revenge…"

"They took your partner. They took my whole _life_."

The kindness drained from Yohji's eyes. "I didn't know it was a contest," he said, coldly.

Aya let out a little sigh of frustration, rubbing his face with his palms, suddenly tired. "I didn't mean…"

"You took her name," Yohji said, his mind flitting, still coming to terms with the implications of what Aya had told him.

"Yes."

"Then…what's your real name?"

Aya opened his mouth to answer, and found he couldn't. Yohji had given him Aya's name, during the very first conversation they'd ever had, and it had seemed at the time almost as if, impossibly, Yohji knew about Aya-chan, as if he was accepting Aya's motives, his reasons for killing. It was an intimate, important thing, the giving of this name, and Aya didn't want to give it back.

He couldn't think of what to say, so he let the silence hang between them until Yohji realised he wasn't going to tell him.

"So I've been your… friend, all this time, but I don't deserve to know your name."

Aya sighed again, and made to stand up, reaching with one hand for the banister. Yohji slipped away from him, retreating a stair, letting his arms fall limply to his sides.

"Aya…"

"What?"

"I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do to help with your sister, anything at all…"

"It's between me and her," said Aya, quickly, jealous of his secret even now. "Don't tell anyone." Although suddenly, there was only one person who didn't know. "I mean, don't tell Ken. And Omi doesn't know much, there's no need for him to know more. I don't want to talk about it."

He wanted desperately to be alone. He was so afraid of the feelings welling up inside him, all the pain and want and hurt that he usually kept choked down so well, that were now threatening to rise up and drown him. But Yohji had other ideas. Instead of retreating downstairs, or waiting for Aya to leave, or arguing with him so he could storm off in a temper, Yohji took the three stairs between them in one easy stride, put his arms around him and tucked Aya's head under his chin, stroking his back in circles, as if he were comforting a child.

Aya fought the sobs that rose in his chest with every last shred of strength he had left. He swallowed down the tears and the rage, squeezing his eyes tight shut against Yohji's soft shirt, gripping his hips with white-knuckled hands as his shoulders shook.

He needed to do something, anything, he needed to move to keep away from the hurt. He couldn't let go now. There was too much left to do. He turned from Yohji, taking his hand, and led him upstairs to his own room, not Aya's spartan surroundings but the comfort of Yohji's well-worn luxury. He kissed Yohji to shut his eyes; he pushed Yohji's shirt over his shoulders, knowing that every whisper of skin on skin would make Yohji forget his concern. He rolled his tongue around Yohji's, driving thought away, first Yohji's and then, more slowly, his own.

Once they were naked, and Yohji was pulling him down onto the bed, Aya dared to let their eyes meet, relieved to see the familiar, heated desire in vivid emerald. No pity, no questions, just a desire for oblivion as deep as his own.

Yohji rolled him over onto his back and kissed him, fumbling briefly under the pillow before pulling out a condom and a jar of lubricant.

Aya held his breath, wondering for a moment if Yohji meant to…

Yohji smiled, seeing the sudden spark of fear or anger in Aya's eyes. He didn't say anything, but shifted back to straddle Aya's thighs, coating Aya's cock with a little lube before he stroked the condom over it. He slathered more lube over the top and rose on his knees.

"Oh God, Yohji," breathed Aya, because he had to say something, Yohji was so painfully beautiful, poised above his straining erection, somehow giving himself and taking Aya, all at once.

Yohji sank down on Aya's erection, his eyes sliding shut, head cast back just a little, a smile slowly spreading across his lips and lighting his face. He moved slowly at first, circling his hips and wriggling at the bottom of every stroke to fully impale himself. Then as Aya's hips started to flex, Yohji caught his rhythm, and after that there was just the feeling of Yohji's tight ass around him, Yohji's soft fingers on him, Yohji's rising crescendo of cries in his ears. The rest of the world fell away in a wave of blessed relief, and Aya surrendered himself, knowing that these feelings, the lust and want and whatever else he might have felt for Yohji, while dangerous enough, were nowhere near as frightening and deep and black as his grief.

He might have cried when he came, but they were tears of lust and passion, and they didn't count.

And afterwards, if he fell asleep in Yohji's arms, it was just because he was tired and his body was languid and sated, and not because he needed to be held.

And later, if he whispered anything in Yohji's ear, then he surely must have already been asleep.

* * * * * * *

Aya couldn't bring himself to look at Omi the next day. He avoided the youngest assassin as much as he could, busying himself with orders and compost, and ignoring Yohji's reproachful glances. He breathed a sigh of relief when the boy went out on a date and left the three of them alone in the shop to contemplate the mission. Aya refused to listen when Ken and Yohji dared to discuss whether there even was a mission.

It was only when Manx called later that evening, and said that Omi had been kidnapped by one of Takatori's bodyguards, that it even occurred to any of them that he might be in danger.

All the way to the address Manx had given him, Aya prepared himself for Omi's death. He might already be dead when they got there. Or he might be prepared to defend Hirofumi again, in which case Aya would kill him to get to the target.

Could he kill Omi?

They took their positions and waited.

The first time Aya caught sight of Omi's battered and bleeding body, he didn't recognise him.

Not because of the welts and bruises that covered his fragile young skin; not because the cornflower eyes that defined Omi's very being were squeezed shut against the pain. It was the dignity with which he was taking the beating that took Aya so much by surprise, the maturity and honour in his frail body. He looked older, wiser, and as he told his brother, the brother who for a few brief days offered him the hope of love and family, that he despised him, Aya's heart clenched.

"You are not my brother."

Omi's decision made, the three of them leapt to save him; Yohji and Ken distracted the orange-haired body guard, but not well enough. Aya howled with rage as his revenge was whisked away once more. Yohji crossed to the window and watched slack-jawed as their target was spirited over the rooftops.

"It's as if the bastard could read my mind," he murmured. "Nice hair though."

Aya cut Omi down swiftly, slicing neatly through the rough rope that bound and tortured his wrists.

"Can you get up, Omi?" he asked, gently.

"Aya-kun, why?" The big eyes were back, swimming with tears now. "I'm a Takatori," he whispered, sounding almost ashamed.

Aya caught Omi's gaze in his, and spoke slowly, his deep voice echoing through the spartan apartment. "Omi, you aren't Takatori Mamaru. You are Tsukiyono Omi."

Omi's face broke out into a huge smile that filled his eyes, and warmed Aya's heart so much that he felt like a traitor.

* * * * * * *

The following night, Aya came back from making deliveries to find Omi had gone out, and no-one knew where. He waited up with Yohji until two in the morning, when they finally heard the purr of his motorcycle in the garage, the soft click of the door as he came in.

Omi set his bow down gently on the kitchen table, with a slightly shaking hand.

"The mission is complete." His voice quiet and steady.

"Chibi? Are you alright?" Yohji put an arm around Omi's shoulders.

"Yes, thank you, Yohji-kun. I think I'll go to bed now." His eyes were red and puffy: he'd been crying.

"Of course," soothed Yohji. "You want anything? Some tea? Soda?"

Omi shook his head. "No, thank you, Yohji-kun. I just want to go to bed."

Yohji shot Aya a look, expecting him to say something, to comfort Omi for the sacrifice he'd been forced to make, for the choice he'd been driven to.

He couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to speak at all.

Aya watched Omi climb the stairs on shaking legs, deprived for once of the fragile mask of denial that so often made him seem the sanest of them all, and looking younger than his seventeen years. Aya watched him with narrow eyes, and an ache deep inside that he could hardly bear. His revenge had been snatched away from him three times, and now there was no hope.

Takatori.

Omi had killed the target.

Omi was not a Takatori.

Only Takatori Reiji remained.

Everything had changed.


	5. 4: Committed

"I hate lilies. They smell of death." Aya arranged long stems with a delicacy of touch that belied his sentiment.

"Smell like cheap perfume to me," said Yohji, with a smirk, "and happy, happy memories."

Ken rolled his eyes. "They're just flowers," he said. "Can we shut up shop now? We're not going to get any more customers."

"Just ten more minutes," mumbled Yohji, gazing out of the window. And under his breath: "damn. She said she'd be here by now…."

Aya looked up sharply. "Who?"

"What?" Yohji turned from the window, a little guiltily. "Uh... no-one."

"Hn." Aya flashed an icy glare at him before returning his gaze to the arrangement he was working on.

"There's football," complained Ken. "And I'm not watching it," he added.

"Just a few more minutes…" Yohji stuck a cigarette in his mouth, searching pockets for his lighter.

"You don't need me, anyway. You and Aya can manage, surely."

"Don't be a pain in the ass, Ken," said Yohji, "I'm on my way out, and Aya's still got a truckload of arrangements to do. You're supposed to be here for another hour."

"It's not my shift," Ken pointed out, with feeling. "I only said I'd cover for you because you lied about the football being cancelled."

Yohji shrugged, lighting his cigarette and drawing deeply. "You're too gullible," he said. "Think of it as training. Oh, and… if I'm not mistaken…" a feline grin spread across his face, his eyes fixed on something outside "I'm out of here. Don't wait up."

Ignoring Ken's rapidly growing fury, Yohji slunk out of the shop and down the street. Ken watched, snarling, as he greeted a tall, blonde woman. She simpered. Actually simpered. Ken snorted in disgust.

Aya raised an eyebrow.

"Some woman," Ken explained, kicking one of the flower buckets irritably. "As usual."

"You did swap shifts," Aya's rich voice reminded him. "Quit complaining."

Ken slumped on the worktable, settling down to some prodigious sulking.

Aya watched the soft focus image of Yohji and the blonde walking past the window, framed by the flowers that lined the shopfront.

It should make what he had to do easier.

But it didn't.

* * * * * * *

What did it matter whether he killed in the name of Weiß?

According to the news, Weiß were murderers. Terrorists. Innocent people were being killed in their name.

While the guilty ones ran for office.

What good was Weiß?

_Ran watched Takatori Reiji as he advanced towards him down a long hallway. Every time Ran's enemy passed a door a monster would emerge, and rush at Ran, and Reiji would wait while he killed it, before he started to stalk again._

_By the time he reached the last door, Ran was covered in blood. The stench of gore choked him, made him retch. But he kept on killing, and at last his true enemy was there, in front of him, and justice would be served. Or Ran would die trying, he didn't much care which. _

_They stood watching each other, swords glinting in the overhead lights. Ran raised his arm to strike, but at the last minute he was distracted: the final door was opening and a familiar voice was calling out for help, desperate and wretched. _

_Ran froze. _

_"When you go to help him, I'll get away," said Reiji, smug, as if Ran's decision were already made. "You'll never find me again."_

_Ran shut his eyes, his guts wrenched by the sound of Yohji's screaming._

_Reiji's voice rumbled on. " It won't end here, Fujimiya. You'll be drowning in blood forever. Your sword is not for this. Go help your boyfriend. You know you can't let him die. Not even for your precious sister and revenge."_

_"Shi-ne!" Ran screamed, and charged at Reiji, skewering him and ripping up through his body, hoping he'd sliced through his heart; he'd imagined this moment so often, and that part seemed important, somehow. His sword grated against bone and he reluctantly pulled it free, watching with elation as the mass of bleeding meat that had been Takatori Reiji fell to the ground._

_He turned and ran through the door to save Yohji, but of course it was too late. Aya looked on in horror as the dead Asuka stood back from Yohji's body, one end of his wire tangled in her fingers, the other end wound tight round Yohji's neck._

_Ran couldn't loosen it, couldn't stop it stealing Yohji's life._

_"Aya," gasped Yohji, clutching at Ran's blood-drenched hand, gathering his last breath. "I thought you. . ."_

Aya woke to the slam of a door, and sprang instantly awake. For a moment his heart twisted, still in the dream, but the memory faded quickly. He'd become used to forgetting dreams. They all had, except Yohji.

Yohji.

He squinted at the clock, just making out the numbers on the luminous face: 3am. He snorted to himself.

It looked like Yohji was early for once.

It wasn't that he cared what Yohji did in his spare time, he told himself. It was that he needed to keep his focus, and it was distracting, endlessly worrying about what trouble the man was getting into. It was dangerous, as far as missions were concerned, because he was out for hours at a time, and when the order came to kill Takatori Reiji, they would have to move quickly. That could prove difficult if Yohji was completely shitfaced or out fucking some woman he picked up in a club.

Takatori's death was so close that Aya could taste it, and yet still the order didn't come.

One more day. He would give Persia one more day to give the order, and if it didn't come he would go alone.

He heard a muffled curse from the room next door, a dull thud as the headboard hit the wall, probably from the impact of Yohji throwing himself on the bed.

Aya turned over and went back to sleep.

* * * * * * *

He wasn't sure how much later it was when he woke again, except that it was still dark. He couldn't make out what had disturbed him, either.

He scrubbed his face with his hands, pulling himself to sitting. 4.30am. He may as well get up, there was no way he'd get to sleep again now. One disturbance he could overcome, but two - well, there was no point, anyway.

He heard a noise then, a low sob. Crying. Yohji was crying.

No. Not Yohji.

Omi.

Aya turned the light on, and listened to Omi's grief, the soft, inadequate expression of the boy's pain at the loss of the girl he might have loved, one way or another. Takatori's daughter.

Is that why he couldn't go and comfort Omi? Is that what kept Aya from taking him tea and offering to cover the morning shift for him? Or was it worse than that, was it that he still hadn't forgiven Omi from taking his vengeance from him?

Or was it that he still couldn't trust him?

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for his robe. He'd go and get a glass of water, he reasoned. Omi would hear him open his door, and if he needed him, he could come downstairs too.

Omi could do that. Unlike the rest of them, he knew how to show how he felt, how to ask for help. Most of the time.

Aya opened his door just in time to see Omi's opening as well, but not for Omi to come out. He watched in amazement as Ken slipped inside the youngest assassin's room, speaking Omi's name softly, comfortingly. The door clicked shut behind him, and Aya realised he was staring.

"Was that Ken?"

Aya started. Yohji was one of the few people who could move so quietly as to take Aya by surprise, and Aya hated it.

"Sorry," Yohji murmured. He smelled strongly of smoky bars and flowery perfume, but he appeared relatively sober for once. He could stand unaided, for one thing, and sneak up on Aya, for another.

"Goodnight, Yohji." Aya was halfway back into his room before Yohji grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Don't," he said. "You want to talk a while?"

"No," said Aya. "I'm exhausted. Go to bed."

"Can't sleep," said Yohji, and somehow he was following Aya into his room, and Aya was letting him.

Aya pulled the robe tighter around him, and sat on the bed. Yohji sat next to him, dressed in his old sweatpants, his hair an unruly jumble around his face, his big eyes full of that odd combination of sadness and mischief that was so appealing.

"So, Ken and Omi, eh?" He reached into the pocket of his sweats for his cigarettes, but withdrew it swiftly in response to Aya's glare. "Who'd have thought it?"

"He was just being nice," said Aya, conveniently forgetting that he'd jumped to exactly the same conclusion.

Omi's unmistakable giggle drifted across the hallway, followed by a squeal of "Ken, that tickles!"

"Yeah," smirked Yohji. "Very nice, by the sound of it."

"So long as it stops him crying," muttered Aya.

Yohji lay back, propping himself on his elbows and bringing his knees up, feet flat on the bed. "Did I miss anything?" he asked, burrowing his bare toes into the soft fabric of Aya's comforter.

"Another bombing on the news tonight," said Aya. "You should stay around more. We could get a mission."

"Yeah, I know," said Yohji. "I've been thinking that I shouldn't be out so much. I'll try and be a good little assassin from now on. There won't be any more dates 'til all this is over."

Aya wiped the surprise from his face before he turned to look at Yohji. "I don't believe that for a second," he said. "It's perfectly obvious you want to be anywhere but here," he added, as if it were unacceptable for a person to want to be somewhere other than at the beck and call of those who would order them to kill, in a house that stank of death and misery. "And the day you take your responsibilities seriously will be the day hell freezes over." At which point the ice will crack and we'll all fall in, he thought, for no particular reason. He rubbed his eyes; he was tired, and his brain wasn't working properly. That was a dangerous state to be in around Yohji at the best of times, and it made him feel vulnerable.

"I got dumped," said Yohji.

"Oh." Aya turned his back on Yohji again, and tried not to be pleased. After all, whatever Yohji did with women was nothing to do with him. All he knew was that women made Yohji more out of control, pushed him closer to the edge, and that wasn't good. So he was pleased, if this meant it was over for a while. And, of course, it was a security risk, dating of any kind. That was probably why he felt so relieved. Of course.

"You could show some sympathy," Yohji huffed.

Aya closed his eyes and sighed.

"Or not," Yohji added. "It hurts, you know, when that happens. When someone says they don't want you."

_No_, thought Aya. _It makes it easier._

"A hug would be nice," suggested Yohji. "I'm in pain here, you know."

"It's late, Yohji," said Aya. "You should get some sleep."

"Yes. So give me a hug."

They'd played this through so many times. Comfort, distraction, another body in the night. Aya resigned himself to it, however much it went against his better judgement, and lay his body next to Yohji's, pulled the other man into his arms, and kissed his hair.

"That's better," murmured Yohji, his tongue flicking out at Aya's earlobe. "That's much better."

Aya's body responded, as it always did around Yohji, completely without conscience. It was as if the immorality that Yohji exuded somehow polluted him when they got this close, stripped him bare, leaving him in a state of raw and dangerous excitement. He rolled on top of Yohji, kissing him hard, plunging his tongue inside Yohji's mouth to wash away the taste of that blonde slut and replace it with his own. Yohji moaned and clung to him, his hands moving the soft silk of Aya's robe to caress his back.

Something that Aya refused, absolutely and completely, to identify as jealousy moved him to be rougher than normal, stopping to bite into Yohji's neck, sucking to raise a bruise between the teeth marks, dragging his nails across Yohji's chest, pinching one nipple cruelly. Yohji revelled in his subjugation, throwing his head back, gripping Aya's shoulders and hissing between clenched teeth. Aya suddenly wanted to do more than distract Yohji from his disappointment. He wanted to possess him, claim him, take him over. He wanted to stop Yohji from running away and wallowing in misery, and become. . .

No. He couldn't. He could fuck him. That was all. Nothing else. He couldn't afford anything else. Just another body in the night.

He leaned over to the chest by the bed, pulled open the top drawer and grabbed lube and a handful of condoms. Yohji moved to help, but Aya pushed him back, pinning him to the bed with one palm pressed to his chest. Yohji looked a little surprised, but not, apparently, unpleasantly so. He slid his hand up Aya's thigh underneath his robe, cool against the heated flesh. He squeezed the taut muscles and watched with lustful eyes as Aya rolled a condom on, watching Yohji back through his curtain of crimson hair.

He intended it to be hard and fast, maybe a little brutal. He'd wanted to shut Yohji up, to punish him, for the blonde, and for not caring, and for Neu and Asuka, and the other women who shouldn't mean anything to either of them. But once he was inside, once the slick heat of Yohji's body was clenched around his cock and those emerald eyes were devouring him, once Yohji's beautiful face was uptilted as he threw his head back with a pleasure-filled groan; once Yohji was his again, all he could do was love him.

He moved slowly, hating his traitorous body for wanting it so, but unable to resist. Yohji moved with him, gripping the sides of Aya's body with his thighs, his fingers tangled in Aya's hair, eartails dripping down Yohji's fair-skinned arms like blood.

"Oh Aya. . . so good, so good, oh, Aya, yes. . ."

All he had to do was kiss him, and the words would stop. Better they stop now, before they got dangerous.

"Oh Aya. . . oh fuck, mine, mine, mine . . ."

He didn't know what he was saying, of course. It was just the passion, the rising orgasm, the same good feelings that made Aya's toes curl up and his tongue to caress his lower lip.

"That's it, right there. . . oh, shit, Aya but you're so hard. . ."

All of Aya's senses were overwhelmed: the smell of stale smoke, the feel of sweet, slick skin, the sight of Yohji underneath him, hair tumbling back from his face, a flush over perfect cheekbones; the salty taste of his skin and the sweetness of his kisses; the voice, oh the sound of that voice, pure desire. The deeper Aya thrust the lower it got, telling Aya how big he was, how hot, how hard, how incredibly beautiful, until Aya couldn't stand it any more. He started to stroke Yohji's erection swiftly, as if it were his own, holding himself still until the last minute, when Yohji screamed his name.

"Coming. . . Aya. . . coming. . . I. . . love - "

The most dangerous word of all.

Aya let himself thrust again once Yohji had started to spray himself white; he savoured every last sensation of blissful friction until finally he came too, filling the condom in a series of spasms that rocked his body and somehow made him sink his teeth deep into Yohji's neck, biting and sucking for all he was worth.

"Aya. . . ow! Shit. . ."

He raised his head with a start, suddenly realising what he was doing. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Carried away." His breathing was still rapid, his mind fuzzy.

"It's okay," said Yohji, rubbing his marked neck and grinning up at Aya. "I kinda like it when you get all vampy like that."

Aya grunted and pulled away. Yohji settled beside him, put his arms around him and held him close, whether he liked it or not.

"Thank you," he yawned. "I needed that. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Aya closed his eyes, and hugged him back for the briefest of seconds. Yohji felt so warm, so good, his skin soft under Aya's lips.

"You'll cope," he whispered.

But Yohji was already asleep.

* * * * * * *

By the next sunset, Aya had stopped waiting, and he'd gone to the kill on his own.

He wanted it over and done. He knew what Persia had said was true, that he wasn't as strong alone, that he shouldn't risk his life when Aya-chan relied upon him. He knew these things. He also knew that Omi and Persia had lied to him, that Weiß was riddled with the same disease he had sworn to eradicate from the face of the earth.

He couldn't, wouldn't wait.

He should have done.

He should never have gone alone, to throw his life away so stupidly, to be fooled so easily. The humiliation of lying in the gutter under Farfarello's blade while Crawford mocked him, was nothing, compared to the humiliation of knowing Persia had been right.

Takatori had been denied him again, and it left a bitter aftertaste of futility and hopelessness. But he didn't want to die, not yet. Just as he was contemplating the irony of that realisation, and waiting for the final blow to come, the world shifted again, and there wasn't any dying after all.

Manx pulled him across her lap in the back seat of Persia's car, stroking back his hair, tending his wounds, and he was surprised at how glad he was to see her.

"Do you see now why you can't fight alone?" Persia's voice was low and angry. Aya supposed he had a right to be. A feeling of dread grew inside him - he'd tried to leave. No-one left Weiß of their own accord, unless they wanted to die.

Aya watched Persia's eyes in the rear view mirror. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I need your help," Persia admitted.

That wasn't what he'd expected. "I thought I told you," he said, coldly. "I won't be fooled."

"Then why don't you see for yourself," spat Persia bitterly, "how long just three of Weiß can last against the power of a Takatori!"

_What?_ Aya's eyes widened, and his stomach lurched.

"If you don't want to mourn their deaths," said Persia, "you must help me."

_The mission. He gave them the mission, when I was gone. He sent them to die. I let him send them to die._

Manx's fingers soothed his aching head, and Aya fought back tears.

"No," he whispered. "No more death."

* * * * * * *

He'd never forget how he felt when he saw them that night. He'd hardly dared believe any of them could still be alive considering the sheer number of Special Forces at the landfill site, never mind the hardware they were using. He killed with a rage that came from deep inside, the rage that had built every minute of every day since Takatori had stolen his family and his future, the rage that never diminished, was never spent, now had a whole new feast of anguish to gorge itself on.

By the time he could think again, the remainder of the Special Forces were running for their lives, as the wreck of the last helicopter rained burning metal to the ground, and all he could do was look at Yohji and will him to breathe.

One eye opened, glinted at him in the dim glow of the headlights from Persia's car. "Well done," came the familiar voice, at last, a weak echo of its usual vibrant timbre. "The entrance was a little over-dramatic, but all in all, good job."

Aya was itching to touch him, to hug him, to shower him in stupid kisses.

"I'm sorry I was late," he said, standing his ground, whatever he might have wanted, standing still, clenched fists shoved in the pockets of his coat, hidden.

"Omi! Omi, you're alive!" Ken blurted.

Omi was coming round in Ken's arms, big cornflower eyes slowly flickering open. "Ken-kun," he breathed. There was blood everywhere, and Omi was ghostly pale. "Aya-kun, Yohji-kun. . ."

"Oh, Omi!" Ken was suddenly and, from Aya's point of view, embarrassingly, showering Omi's face with little kisses, tears falling down his cheeks. "I thought I'd screwed up again, I thought. . ."

"Ken!" squeaked Omi. "That's enough!" He put his good arm around Ken's shoulders, hugging him close in the squalor and stench of the landfill crater. "That's enough," he whispered again, softly, and his eyes fluttered shut.

Manx came over with the first-aid kit, and she and Aya started to patch the other three up as best they could.

"There's an abandoned warehouse not far from here," she told him. "Take them there, sort them out as best you can, and lay low until we can get further orders to you. The Koneko won't be safe. You've done enough," she added, gently. "Persia will take it from here."

"Hn." Aya wiped antiseptic roughly over a long gash down Yohji's arm, ignoring the other man's protests. His mind was racing. He couldn't, wouldn't be denied his kill. Not now. The hunger for Takatori's blood was unbearable. But he could see that the others were in no shape to fight: fuck, Omi had been barely alive, the kid was still hopelessly weak. Manx was right.

As dawn started to streak the sky crimson, cream and gold, Aya pulled Yohji to standing, draping one lanky arm around his shoulders.

Omi held Ken in his arms, rocking gently back and forth, as they watched Manx and Persia drive away.

Aya wove his fingers through Yohji's, and kissed his filthy hair.

"Hey, Ken," said Yohji, squeezing Aya's hand. "Here's another screw up!"

Omi stared at them, as if seeing something for the first time. "Yohji-kun!" he said, "Aya-kun. . ." The wretched sound to his voice ripped at Aya's heart.

Ken managed a weak grin. "Too right, Yohji," he murmured.

"Can you walk?" Aya asked. "We can't stay here any longer."

Ken nodded, grimacing as he gently extricated himself from Omi's embrace and pulled himself up. He gingerly tested his weight on his injured ankle. "Just a sprain," he said, relieved. "Looks like my soccer days aren't over yet."

Omi's hand snaked into Ken's, and gripped like he never meant to let go.

Aya tightened his hold around Yohji's waist, and led them to safety.

* * * * * * *

Yohji and Aya settled by their makeshift fire in one corner of the concrete warehouse, watching Ken and Omi sleep. Aya leaned against the rough wall, Yohji's head in his lap, gently stroking back the hair from his face.

"You were right," said Aya, softly. "About Ken and Omi."

The two younger assassins were lying in each others arms. Even in sleep Omi had a grasp on Ken that looked as if he never planned on letting go.

"I had my suspicions for a while," said Yohji. "And Ken said something, tonight. About Kase. About not screwing up again. And I realised he meant the chibi. It figures, I guess."

Aya sighed deeply.

"I'm glad you showed up," said Yohji. "It was good to see you hadn't managed to kill yourself."

"Hn."

"It hurt like fuck, you know," Yohji went on, long fingers curled around Aya's knee, stroking little circles. "When Omi said you weren't coming back. Like a knife in the gut."

Aya's eyes darted to Yohji's face, surprised.

"But then I guess I should have expected it. You have a whole mission going on that none of us are part of, don't you?"

"Yes," Aya admitted. "And it's my fight. Nobody else's."

"You're wrong, love," said Yohji. "That bastard has ruined all our lives, one way or another. It's not just you."

"But. . ."

"We're all a mess, Aya. Look at us. Omi has been raised to kill his father. Ken has lost the love of his life. . . well, two of them anyway." Yohji lifted his head a little to look at Ken and Omi, and smiled indulgently. Then he turned to kiss Aya's thigh, just once, an affectionate peck, before he settled back down in his lap.

"And you?" Aya just wanted him to keep talking, he wanted to hide in the shameful comfort of Yohji's voice.

"You don't need to ask me that, Aya. You've held me in the night after the nightmares. You know."

"But. . ."

"The way I see it," Yohji went on, "you're our weapon, Aya. You're the sword, sharp-edged and mean and deadly. But you're no good without the rest of us. A sword without a body to wield it is just a symbol. People don't die of symbols, and that bastard _has_ to die. Use us. Let us help you to kill him."

There was a long pause. Aya fought the tightness of his throat, the tremble of his hands, watched the play of the reflected flames on Omi's pale skin.

"I couldn't bear to lose you," he whispered, eventually. "Any of you, but, you. . . I. . ." He tailed off, his hand frozen in Yohji's hair.

"Baka," snorted Yohij gently. "Didn't it occur to you that we're not exactly keen on losing you either?"

Aya's head drooped. A tear spilled over his lashes and streamed silently down his face.

"You shouldn't care," he said.

"No," agreed Yohji. "But it's not like I have a choice."

"Yohji," whispered Aya, after a while.

"Yes?"

"I want to kill him so badly it burns. It sits in my head all the time, in my guts, in every part of me, and if I don't get to do it soon. . ." Just the thought of it was thrilling him, making his body sing with need.

"Then let's go kill him," said Yohji, quietly. "But make sure you really do it this time, okay? I'm getting really sick of the bastard. He's ruining my sex life."

Aya's mouth twitched into a little smile, despite himself.

"And you'll. . ."

"I'll do anything I can," promised Yohji. "The others will, too. You'll see."

"Then. . ."

Yohji kissed Aya's leg again, nuzzled his head in Aya's lap, grabbed Aya's hand and clasped it to his chest.

"You saved me, after all," he said. "It's the least I can do."


	6. Interlude: Meditation 2

He should have stayed. He should never have left Yohji there in the middle of the ruined Koneko, with the small bag that contained what few possessions he had bothered to salvage. Hurt, and angry.

There was supposed to be a happy ever after. He knew Yohji had expected it. He'd almost dared anticipate it himself, in the heady rush of their attack on Takatori.

Takatori Reijii was dead. He'd killed him. He'd thrust his sword in the man's evil, indulged body and twisted his organs to pulp.

Weiß was gone.

And nothing had changed.

He still visited Aya-chan every day, he still worked for her everyday, he still prayed to the gods who hated him that one day she would wake up.

He should have been free. It should have ended.

It would never end.

He should have stayed.

Aya cast a look of revulsion at the slim body stretched out next to him, asleep.

The boy didn't deserve revulsion. He was gorgeous: long-limbed, narrow-waisted, lightly-muscled. Longish dusky blonde hair fell across his face, green eyes hooded in sleep.

So obvious. So sad. So stupid.

Aya stared at the ceiling, and hated himself.

The body next to him stirred; a sleepy murmur came from the soft lips that had wrapped around Aya's cock the night before, and given him a release he'd thought never to feel again.

Aya was about to tell him to go. He wanted to do it nicely. It wasn't the boy's fault, after all, and he'd been kind when Aya didn't deserve kindness. But Aya wasn't good at nicely. He knew it would come out wrong, as an insult, that he'd turn the warm comfort of the previous night into something cheap and sordid.

"Hey."

The soft voice, nothing like Yohji's, broke into his thoughts and startled him.

"Hn."

"What did you say your name was?"

A warm finger traced circles around the scar on Aya's breastbone. The one that hadn't been anything to do with killing or death, the one that came from driving his father's car too fast and hitting a tree.

"Aya," he said, and it felt like a betrayal, giving Yohji's gift of name to a stranger.

If the boy was surprised that he had a girl's name, he didn't show it. "I'm Kazuki."

"Oh."

"This is always the hard part, eh? The waking up and wondering who you were fucking last night?"

He said it lightly, as if it were just for conversation, but Aya picked up an undercurrent of sadness and worry, maybe embarrassment.

"I don't know," he said. "I haven't done this before."

"You mean-" Kazuki's eyes were wide with surprise. "You're not a virgin?"

Aya felt a flush spread up his cheeks. "No, of course not. I just don't usually get picked up in bars."

In fact it had been the other way around. He hadn't been the passive victim of Kazuki's desire. He'd seen the man sitting at a table by himself, felt a shock of recognition, and even once he'd convinced himself it wasn't Yohji, that he was much younger than Yohji, and not quite as skinny, that his nose was a little snubber and his hair straighter, even then, he had been overwhelmed by a need to be close to the mock-familiarity of this boy who was nearly Yohji.

Aya had done the picking up.

But Kazuki didn't correct him. He just smiled, a dazzling, genuine version of Yohji's mocking grin, and rested his palm on Aya's stomach. The muscles there were tight and well developed now from working on the construction site; well-defined ridges of flesh that Aya knew Yohji would love. Kazuki had certainly seemed to appreciate them last night, tracing each perfect line with his pointy little tongue.

The memory twitched Aya's cock awake, undeterred by such details as morality and fairness. Kazuki was beautiful, partly because he looked a little like Yohji, and Yohji was beautiful, but also in his own right. His eyes looked older than the rest of him, deep and knowing, but without the cast of wretchedness that Aya was so used to seeing in anyone he knew well enough to look that hard at.

"So, do you want me to leave?" Kazuki teased him with those old, deep-seeing eyes, moving his hand lower, under the crisp cotton sheet that covered them both from hipbone to knee, or thereabouts.

Aya hissed at the gentle touch of fingers, the teasing grasp around his sudden erection.

Yes. Yes, I want you to leave. If you don't leave I will use you, and hurt you, and in the end I will leave you, because you're not someone else. You deserve better.

"Hmmm?" Kazuki pressed for an answer, squeezing Aya's cock with perfect grip.

It felt so good. The contact, the comfort, the fact that this boy knew nothing. Nothing.

"How old are you?" he gasped out.

"Eighteen," said Kazuki, his hand frozen for an instant. "Next month."

Aya squeezed his eyes shut. "Then stay."

Kazuki all but purred, and shimmied down the bed to take Aya in his mouth again.

Aya lay there for a moment, waiting for the moment that he was engulfed in sensation so intense that he could forget where it came from. His head was a jumbled noise of thought and guilt, and he wanted nothing more than to escape from the din and feel nothing, to not care any more.

And yet, he did care. He cared what Yohji might be doing, _who_ Yohji might be doing, he cared that Omi had cried when he left, he cared whether Ken was looking after the chibi properly. He even cared that Kazuki had done nothing but give him pleasure from the moment Aya brought him back to his tiny apartment the night before, and had never once asked for anything in return. And Aya hadn't offered it.

It wasn't fair. The boy had done nothing to deserve Aya's coldness. He wasn't Yohji, after all, with his women and his drinking, and his refusal to face up to the death of his old lover. Kazuki was kind, and generous, and deserved better.

Aya sat up, and pulled Kazuki up with him, threaded his fingers through the strands of burnt-yellow silk. With the tiniest of smiles he leaned forwards and kissed him for the first time.

He tasted sweet, no cigarette smoke, no acrid morning-after alcohol. He kissed Aya back gently, savouring the gentle rub of lips to lips, the careful invasion of tongue to mouth. Aya kept kissing, and lowered Kazuki back onto the bed, resting his head on the soft pillow, spreading his hair out across starched, white linen. He kissed down the graceful arch of neck, tongued the notch of collarbone, zigzagged to lick nipples and snuffle armpits, savouring the musky scent of sweat and man. He slid one hand between Kazuki's knees and parted his thighs, shifted so he knelt between them.

There was more kissing, tender and lingering, as if they were really lovers.

Aya circled his fingers around both their erections, Kazuki's smaller than his own, but just as eager. He slid his hand lazily up and down, caressing silky flesh with silky flesh and careful palm, pausing every now and then to spread precome around, mixing their juices, wondering what it would feel like if Kazuki came like this, whether his come would spurt or dribble, whether it was thick, or thin, if it tasted sweet or bitter, or, like Yohji's usually did, somewhere between.

"You said something about condoms?" he said. "Last night?"

Kazuki reached under the pillow and produced two foil wrappers: condom and lube. Aya took them, pulling Kazuki's hand to his mouth to wetly kiss each finger tip.

He watched Kazuki's face as he reached down between his spread thighs and touched him. He watched the flush rise to the boy's cheekbones as he was penetrated by a single finger, arching into Aya's invasion. He watched the shoulders shake with sudden pleasure when Aya found his prostate and started to rub. He watched the tip of tongue flick over dry lips as Aya added another finger and stretched.

"Ready? Tell me if it hurts."

It mustn't hurt. However else I hurt you, I won't hurt you like this.

Kazuki nodded and opened his eyes, to show that it didn't hurt.

Aya sank his sheathed, slick cock inside of him, inch by inch, and Kazuki didn't so much as flinch. Instead, a bright smile spread across his lips; he wrapped his long legs around Aya's upper back, and when Aya was all the way inside, encased in bliss, he thanked him for it.

"Kazuki..."

"Take me."

Tears started to prick at the back of Aya's eyes, but he didn't care. It felt good. It felt good to hold this boy in his arms and to bury himself inside of him.

It felt good to think of someone different.

This was nothing to do with Yohji, Aya thought as he started to thrust, taking a moment to nip and suck at Kazuki's neck, to nibble up to his ear and tease the tiny hairs that grew there. This was different, and it was the difference that thrilled him, not the sameness.

Kazuki didn't bear the scars of tragedy, or the guilt of killing. He didn't cling to Aya through fear and need. His affection was simple and genuine, uncomplicated. His body was given freely, willingly, completely.

Aya delighted in giving him pleasure, this first time and many others in the months that were to come. Aya loved the smile that lit Kazuki's face at his touch, whether it be a simple kiss, a brush of the hand or a deep thrust of cock into his body, it all made him glow with happiness. And Aya had brought so little happiness into the world, that he relished it, and couldn't stop.

But that came later. The first time Aya took Kazuki, he still couldn't believe he was capable of making anyone happy. He was willing to settle for making the boy feel good.

Aya looked deep into Kazuki's forest green eyes and made love to him with long, measured thrusts, pausing at the end of each one, filling him. He took Kazuki's slender sex in his hand and worked it steadily, sliding firmly up and down, twisting the foreskin up and palming the head at the end of every stroke. Kazuki's pretty face twisted with pleasure; he wiggled his hips up to get every inch of Aya's cock inside him, his shaft throbbed in Aya's hand. It was heaven, simple bliss, to feel that hot young body responding to him, clenching and writhing around him, until Kazuki stared at him, looking almost alarmed for a moment as his orgasm shook him. Then the smile returned, and he relaxed as the first stream of white flew from his body to stripe his chest, and another, and another, until he seemed drenched in the stuff. Aya let himself come then, imagined himself spurting deep inside Kazuki, as if there were no barrier to stop his semen splattering the hot tunnel that was squeezing every last drop out of him.

He opened his eyes, still panting, and trailed shaking fingers through the cooling puddle of come on Kazuki's chest, raised them to his lips, and tasted him for the first time.

He could see Kazuki's generous heart melt at the gesture, could see the heat of lust already returning to his eyes. In a moment of euphoria Aya decided to take the day off work and keep doing this, keep fucking and fucking this beautiful man until it didn't hurt anymore. Until nothing hurt anymore.

Kazuki tasted sweet and clean, like milk.

Nothing like Yohji at all.


	7. Interlude: Counterpoint 1

Yohji tormented himself with soft female flesh that wasn't hers. He buried his face in long hair that was nothing like hers, he breathed a scent more sultry and heady than hers had ever been. There was no way he could imagine he was making love to her.

But still he tried.

He couldn't help it. There was only one body that felt different enough, safe enough, so completely under the control of the soul who inhabited it that there could never be any mistake. And that body, that soul had deserted him, walked out on him with barely a word, just when he needed him most, just when the possibilities were wide open and scaring him rigid.

He suckled on one hard, pink nipple, cupped a soft, creamy breast in his hand. She felt good, her skin smooth, her body lean and toned. He nuzzled at her breast with his nose, whipped it lightly with his hair.

"Oh God, yeah."

She was nearly as vocal in bed as he was.

He licked a line down her stomach to her navel, and paused there, teasing her.

"Fuck, Kudoh, that tickles!"

"Good," he said. "It's supposed to." He parted her damp folds with one finger. She was wet. Fuck, was she wet. He wanted to taste her, to feel her sweet lips sliding under his tongue.

He let the rest slip away, and lost himself in her.

Soothing fingers roamed through his hair as he settled between her thighs and licked the line of her slit in one broad stroke. She was hairless except for one thick tuft at the top, so he could see how much she wanted him, her sex swollen and ripe, juicy like a peach. He licked again, pushing his tongue deeper this time, separating her inner lips, making a channel that he could follow with his finger.

Yohji never had to think very hard about giving head. His mouth loved to explore and caress and feel, and invariably whatever he wanted to do resulted in bucking hips and long moans and ultimately a very grateful person dissolving under his kisses and rewarding him with their pleasure. She tasted good, smelt good. He wallowed in her, suffused with fleeting contentment.

Her clitoris was stiff, reaching out of its swollen cowl and yearning to be touched. He licked up towards it and waited, gently stroking her thighs, forcing her to find his caress for herself. Sure enough, she bucked and writhed until the hard little shaft pushed against his tongue, groaning with the relief of wet pressure on aching flesh.

He started to lap at her, rubbing her clit first with his nose and then with his tongue, alternating between the two. He slipped two fingers inside her and twisted them around, making little clicking noises in her juices.

"Fuck, you're wet," he murmured appreciatively.

"And you're fucking hard," she said.

He realised his granite dick was pressing against the smooth sole of her foot; she moved it gently, stroking his throbbing flesh with her toes.

He sank his fingers deep inside and sought out her sweet spot, rubbed it hard. She cried out, clenching around him, and he did it again. And again. He nibbled and sucked on her clit, stroked her slick lips with his tongue and kept pressing and rubbing inside her, listening as she yelled his name, begged him not to stop and finally screamed as she came, flooding his hand and squeezing his fingers so hard he had to fight to keep them inside her.

He longed to feel that with his dick. But he forced himself to wait.

The stroking of his hair relaxed again, slowly, the trembling of her milky thighs lessened.

"Oh, fuck, Kudoh."

"Mmm." He gave her clitoris a few more lazy licks, chuckling to himself at the ticklish spasms it sent through her oversensitized body. "You taste too damn good."

She squeezed her legs together, hugging his ears with her thighs. "Your turn," she said. "What d'you want?"

_Someone else._

The thought pierced his mind in an instant, taking him completely by surprise. He dismissed it swiftly, detesting it, hating himself. How could he? When she was so beautiful, so giving, so wet and juicy and there for him. What kind of bastard was he?

To punish himself he sacrificed his first desire, to have her take him in her mouth and suck and lick at him until he sprayed her face as wet and sticky as her cunt. Instead he asked for something that would make up for the betrayal she knew nothing of.

"I want to fuck you. I want to go deep inside you and fill you and make you come."

"Then fuck me."

He growled at her and crawled up her body, guiding his cock inside her with one hand, claiming her mouth with his own. She kissed him back hard, licking her own juices from his lips, and wrapped her legs around him.

She was tight, and wet, and he lost himself more with every thrust. He pulled her own hand down to touch her clit, watching her do it, controlling his breath and his pace until he felt her come around him, and then he let go. He fucked her hard and fast, encouraged by the way she was snapping her pelvis up to meet him. By the time he came she was ready to come with him, and as he emptied himself inside her in a series of long, deep thrusts, he could feel the pulse of her orgasm around him, weaker than before but still wringing a scream out of her.

He licked her neck, tracing the line of her collar bone with one finger, as his dick finished spitting semen.

He kissed her one last time, tenderly, gratefully. It wasn't her fault he felt the way he did. And she was every bit as good as he'd expected.

It wasn't her fault that good wasn't enough for him anymore.

He rolled off her and collapsed on his back. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her handbag on the floor by the bed, lit two and passed him one. He took it gratefully, and sucked in a lungful of smoke.

"Well, Kudoh, I hate to say this, but you're every bit as good as you think you are."

He gave her a sidelong grin. "Thanks."

"Don't get carried away. I'm in the afterglow. I might change my mind by morning."

He blew a long plume of smoke towards the ceiling.

"You're not going to tell me where he is, are you Manx?"

"No," she said. "I'm not. I made a promise, Kudoh."

She turned onto her belly, resting on her elbows, one hand cupping her chin, the other holding her cigarette. Scarlet hair cascaded down her back; Yohji raked his fingers thoughtfully through the soft curls as he smoked.

She was nothing like Asuka, and nothing like Aya at all.

And for that, Yohji was grateful.


	8. 5: Reunion

_Aya. I'll find you, wherever you are. I promise._

The rain poured down, plastering Aya's hair to his skull, drenching his coat and making it heavy, dragging on his shoulders. The panic had settled now into the familiar, dull ache of anger in his belly. He had a mission again. To find Aya-chan. To find whoever had taken her, and kill them.

The adrenaline gave him focus and an energy he hadn't felt for months. He felt as sharp and deadly as the katana that had settled so comfortably back at his side.

Ken and Omi were leaving the roof, Omi sliding an arm around Ken's waist, snuggling into the crook of his lover's arm.

Yohji leaned on the safety rail, looking down at the street below with no respect for vertigo. His hair, a little longer, maybe, than the last time Aya had seen him, straggled over his collar and shoulders. His mission clothes clung to the line of his body, thinner than ever and seeming somehow taller.

He turned to look at Aya, leaning back on the rail, and took the soggy but still burning cigarette from his mouth.

"I'd forgotten what it felt like," Yohji said.

Aya didn't say anything. Yohji's eyes were locked on his, binding them together as sure as if he had his wire around Aya's throat.

"There's no feeling like it, just after a mission," Yohji continued. "You feel excited, exhilarated even, and sick and sad and guilty. Angry for whatever the bastards did, and angry that this world is so screwed up that we have to kill them. Feel like shit, because we're no better than them."

_Yes we are. You are. It doesn't matter._

He was walking towards Yohji as if magnetised, even strides, slow and deliberate, until he was so close that the smoke from Yohji's cigarette was seeping into his own lungs, acrid and heavy with memories.

It was over with Kazuki. He'd always known it wouldn't last, and this was the moment it ended. More or less.

Aya felt a ruffle of a breeze through his hair, a whisper of loss.

"Always makes me horny, too," Yohji said, dropping the cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with one booted foot. "Eh, Aya? Do you find that? Post stress lust, I call it. Gets me every time."

They looked at each other.

"I remember," said Aya.

Then his mouth was on Yohji's, and he was bending him back over the rail, kissing him ruthlessly, and Yohji's gloved hands were in his hair, Yohji's tongue was twisting around his. Aya felt a searing passion he'd tried hard to forget over these months of gentle, normal affection. He wrenched Yohji's coat open, moaned and twisted his fingers inside, brushing the bare flesh of Yohji's midriff before he found buckle and button and zip, and finally clasped the heat of Yohji's cock, springing straight and hard into his hand.

"Fuck, Aya..." Yohji gasped, dropping his forehead down onto Aya's shoulder.

"Is this what you want?" said Aya, his voice cold and hard for all the feelings that were welling up inside of him.

"Aya..."

Aya started to rub, slow at first, with a soft, tantalising grip, forcing Yohji to thrust into his fist to get what he wanted.

"We could go back to the Koneko," Yohji murmured feebly. "Fuck properly... ah..." Aya gripped Yohji's shaft, a more firmly, squeezed a little. Yohji surrendered then, fucking Aya's hand, pressing his hipbone against Aya's own erection through the layers of denim and leather.

It took no more than a few minutes before Yohji was gasping and spurting over Aya's fingers. He milked out every last drop, wondering when Yohji had last had sex, that he should come so quickly and so much.

Of course. Neu. He must have had Neu. That's why he looked so guilty yesterday, in the mission room. How else could she have got close enough to strangle him?

So transparent. So fucking obvious.

And none of his business, he reminded himself, the memory of Kazuki's warm smile spearing guilt and sadness through him.

Yohji sank to his knees, unbuckling Aya's soaked coat with trembling fingers, opening his pants and shucking them down just far enough, shoving his shirt up out of the way. Aya closed his eyes and clutched at Yohji's shoulders with his fists as his cock was enveloped in wet warmth. The rain ran like tears down his uptilted face, ran into his mouth, soft and cool on his tongue.

Yohji let Aya's cock drop from his mouth, looked up at him.

"Aya..."

Aya forced his eyes open, and returned Yohji's gaze, instantly lost in pleading emerald eyes.

"Come home," said Yohji. "Let me make it good."

"No," Aya said, and pulled Yohji's head back towards his erection. He watched it disappear slowly between Yohji's pliant lips, saw the bulge of it against his cheek for a moment before Yohji adjusted the angle to take it down his throat. He watched as Yohji sucked and fucked him with his mouth, loving and expert as ever. He watched as he flooded that willing mouth with semen, saw the pleasure in Yohji's eyes, a kind of victory, and knew he was vulnerable in that moment, his own expression raw and uncertain.

"We need to get out of here," said Yohji, wiping the mouth with the back of his hand, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. "The police will be here any minute. There's a diner round the corner. Let's get changed and go there. We can talk."

"Alright," Aya agreed. "But I won't go back to the Koneko. I'm not staying. I won't be Weiss again."

"No," said Yohji. "I know."

They both knew it was a lie.

* * * * * * *

It was a week later that Aya went back to collect his things from the apartment before he finally returned to Weiss. The apartment block was clean and somehow cheerful, jarring with his melancholy mood. He felt as if death clung to him like a damp cloak; he almost expected Kazuki to be able to see it.

The kitchen was full of light, the windows open, letting in the distant sound of the ocean. Kazuki welcomed him with a bright smile and a gentleness he didn't deserve, hugged him tight, made him tea. He led Aya to the comfortable sofa Kazuki had made him buy, and the boy lay on his back, his head in Aya's lap, looking up at him through dark blonde bangs that streaked his face and obscured his soft green eyes.

He looked beautiful, and astoundingly young. It was easy to remember that he was only a scant year older than Omi, or Aya-chan.

_Aya._

He had to find her. The hours and days of not knowing where she was were turning into weeks, and he couldn't bear it. Grief and loss writhed inside him, and it was all he could do to stop himself from screaming.

"How was your trip?" Kazuki asked, reaching up to wind a finger in one of Aya's eartails.

Aya stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

"It was... complicated," he said.

_What am I doing here?_ He'd never deserved any of this. He'd been foolish to think his old life had stopped, that he could escape. It would never stop. He didn't deserve for it to stop.

"I missed you," said Kazuki. "Promise you won't think I'm silly but... I was running an errand down by the hospital last Tuesday, and I thought I saw your car. I got stupidly excited, I thought you were back early and... but it can't have been you, I know, not really. I didn't hang around, it was pissing down with rain, and when I'd finished the errand, the car was gone. I really missed you. Fuck, you must think I'm so stupid." He grinned, all cute dimples and twinkling eyes, as if defying Aya to think such a thing.

An unfamiliar guilt burned in Aya's gut. Nothing to do with killing and blood and revenge. Just ordinary, everyday, human guilt. He'd almost forgotten what that felt like.

"Kazuki..."

"You said there was a funeral," he said. "Was it someone close to you? You never talk about Tokyo, or your family or..."

"No, I'd only just met him. But I liked him. It wasn't right that he should die. He was very... honourable."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Still, you're back now. You can put it behind you. I'll cheer you up." He winked.

"Oh, Kazuki," Aya sighed, very quietly. "You deserve so much better."

"What?"

"I have to go back," he said, his voice as clear and dispassionate as he could make it. "I'm moving back to Tokyo tomorrow. For good. Alone."

Kazuki blinked; Aya watched him, waiting for it to sink in.

"I could come with you," he said. "I don't like it here much anyway."

Aya tried to imagine Kazuki living in the shadow of neon and rain that was Tokyo. It was impossible. There was no place for this sunkissed, golden vision of youth in the Hell Aya deserved. None at all. Kazuki's place was here, free to swim in the ocean, play in the sun, and above all else, be normal. Happy.

"I'm sorry," he said, brushing the hair back from Kazuki's gentle face. "I've always known I might have to go back. I should have told you before. But-"

"You thought I might have left if I'd known." His voice was steady, but the bright smile was long gone, his eyes sad.

"What? No, it wasn't that. It was just..."

"It's okay. I understand. You've never promised me anything." Matter of fact. Brave.

That was true, thought Aya, part of him wishing he had. That he could have given Kazuki that much at least, a broken promise.

"I want you to keep the apartment," said Aya. "I've changed the deeds into your name, and it's all paid for. You don't have to stay here if you don't want to, you can sell it and travel round the world or even go to college, but at least..."

"What?! Fuck, Aya, you didn't have to... wow. You're not kidding?"

"No," said Aya.

"Of course not," Kazuki grinned at him, although the hurt in his eyes was growing every second. "Sorry, I forgot for a minute. Mr serious and all."

"I want to know you'll be okay. Here."

"I will. Thanks, I... I don't know what to say. I won't sell it, I love this place, and the ocean and... oh Aya..."

"I'm sorry," said Aya. "I'm really sorry."

"Then stay," said Kazuki, earnestly.

For a moment, Aya almost thought he could. He didn't have to go back to the Koneko permanently, he could still work for Weiss and look for his sister and come back here sometimes and...

... and bring with him the stink of death and danger, until finally someone noticed what Kazuki meant to him, and decided to use him. A hostage, a sacrifice. Worse still, a recruit.

No.

And besides...

"I'm sorry," he repeated. He knew Kazuki wouldn't believe him. Not yet. Maybe in a few months, when Aya still hadn't returned, but not now.

He scooped Kazuki up in his arms to kiss him for the last time. In fact, it wasn't the last time; Kazuki pressed his warm body up against him and kissed him back so hard, and offered himself so completely and generously, and wanted him so much, that Aya ended up staying the night, lost in the boy he could almost have loved, in the life that Fujimiya Ran might have had.

It was dawn before he finally left Kazuki sleeping, and crept back to the rain-sodden hell of Tokyo.

* * * * * * *

"We should have made something special, for Aya-kun's first night back," said Omi, frowning at the odd array of sushi and pizza that Ken was spreading out on the kitchen table.

"Or at least stuck to one nationality of food," mused Yohji, as a MacDonald's bag emerged from Ken's pannier.

"The sushi's for Aya," said Ken. "You might have forgotten, but it's his favourite. Remember that time we took him to Sushisei for his birthday?"

Yohji grinned.

Aya watched them through the crack in the almost-closed door, arms folded protectively in front of his chest.

"We had to trick him into meeting us there," said Omi. "He didn't want us to make a fuss."

"I thought he was going skewer all three of us," said Ken. "He was so mad when he found out there wasn't a mission after all."

"Only at first," said Yohji, still grinning. "He got much more mellow about it as the night wore on."

"Yeah," said Ken. "The sake helped, as I recall."

Omi's eyes met Yohji's across the table, searing blue and huge as ever.

"You'll be pleased he's back, I expect, Yohji-kun?" said Omi, his tone deceptively light.

"Yes," said Yohji, not looking away.

"Fuck, I think the Coke's about ready to explode," said Ken, oblivious as ever. "I knew I should've taken those corners a bit more gently."

Aya sucked air into his lungs and held it there, his eyes tight shut, as if he were about to dive into the ocean. So familiar, and so far away. He reminded himself that he needed this. He needed them. He needed them to get Aya back, and to keep him alive while she was gone.

He needed them.

Knuckles clenching white on the handle, he opened the door.

* * * * * * *

He wasn't surprised, when Yohji followed him up the stairs. Those perceptive green eyes had been on him all evening, his hand brushing against Aya's arm or shoulder or even his knee under all manner of pretexts.

He reached the landing at the top of the stairs, and turned.

"Want a nightcap?" asked Yohji.

Yohji's room was different. The huge bed was gone, replaced by a more modest version, no more than ordinary double sized, European-looking in pine with a plain green quilt and a couple of pillows. The bookcases were half-empty, the desk completely free of the clutter Yohji usually gathered around him wherever he went. There was the usual abundance of full ashtrays, though, and a bottle of vodka and two of sake on the window sill. It smelt the same: cigarette smoke and damp laundry.

"The chibis are so sweet," said Yohji. "Did you see them cuddling on the sofa when they thought we couldn't see?"

"Didn't notice," lied Aya.

"They've kept it together all this time, you know," said Yohji, crossing to the window. "I think that's why Ken stayed here. He could've gone to Europe, even played soccer again. But he didn't. He wants to make sure Omi gets through college."

Aya didn't say anything. He stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, and watched Yohji as he poured sake into two glasses.

"How did you like the construction trade, Aya?" Yohji asked. "Did you meet anyone... interesting?"

The memory of Kazuki clenched in Aya's heart. "No," he said.

"Me neither," said Yohji. "I got to screw Manx, but she's not all that I thought she'd be."

Aya glared at him, sure that his hypocritical disgust must be written all over his face.

"Oh, she was a good fuck," said Yohji. "But she wouldn't tell me where you were."

He noticed the anger in Yohji's eyes then, and cursed himself for not realising earlier. He was out of practice at guessing Yohji's mood. "I had no choice," he said, coldly.

"Yes, Aya, you did," said Yohji. "You could have taken me with you."

"I had to keep Aya-chan safe," said Aya. "If you'd come there would have been a connection, a link to Kritiker, to Takatori. I had to keep her safe."

"Yeah," said Yohji bitterly. "That worked well, didn't it?"

Rage flowed through Aya, cold and deadly as ever. For a split second he wasn't sure whether to push Yohji through the window or run him through.

He turned to leave, and was half way to the door before Yohji said anything.

"You can't do this on your own."

Aya froze.

_You're not the only one who's lost somebody._

"Shit, I'm sorry, Aya. I didn't mean to... come and sit down, please. Have a drink. Please."

Aya looked over his shoulder. Yohji stood against the backdrop of Tokyo's night sky, inky sky painted with dots of pink and purple light. He looked sad, still a little angry, a little desperate.

As beautiful as ever.

He strode to the window and took the offered sake with a nod. They sat facing each other in the little window seat for a long time, avoiding the obvious things, talking about books and films instead, like they'd used to. He'd forgotten how much they had in common, apart from the killing. After a while he noticed Yohji's socked foot worming its way onto his thigh, and found himself gently massaging a bony ankle, pressing his thumb against familiar tendons and cool skin. Yohji gave a contented little sigh, poured more sake and leaned back against the alcove wall, shaking his next cigarette out of the pack.

Aya slid his hand a bit further up Yohji's leg, under his jeans, and stroked.

Yohji watched him.

"I missed you," said Yohji.

"Even with all those women?" said Aya, softly.

Yohji's lips twitched into a grin. "Even with all those women. It's not the same, Aya. I missed you."

Aya nodded, once.

"You want to stay? Tonight, I mean?"

"Just like old times?" said Aya.

"Something like that," said Yohji.

"The dreams have come back?"

Yohji looked away, staring out of the window. "Every night. Since Neu tried to... every fucking night."

Aya reached out and touched Yohji's throat, the bruise already fading. "She'll pay for that," he whispered. "I promise."

Yohji swallowed, still staring out at the night sky, but he caught Aya's hand in his, twining their fingers together and holding tight.

"I'll stay," said Aya.

Yohji's eyes slid closed; Aya took the unlit cigarette from between his lips and tossed it over his shoulder. He hooked his hand behind Yohji's neck and pulled him close enough to kiss, rising gracefully to his knees. Yohji gave a little moan and slid his arms around Aya's waist, slipping easily under the soft fabric of his button-down shirt, long fingers inching up his spine to knead the tight muscles across Aya's back and shoulders.

He doubted that even Yohji could get him to relax, but it still felt good, unbelievably good. He let himself sink into Yohji's warmth, closing his eyes and drifting, focused only on Yohji's tongue winding around his, on Yohji's hands on his skin, Yohji's lean muscles shifting under his own fingers. After a long while, Yohji finally pulled back. His hooded eyes were bright with familiar heat.

"Let's take this to the bed," he purred. He nodded towards the unshuttered window. "Kritiker haven't got around to giving us new blinds, and I don't think the rest of the city is ready for this kind of a show just yet."

Aya downed the last few gulps of sake, and followed Yohji across the room, undoing his own shirt on the way. Yohji had already pulled his over his head and tossed it into a corner; he reached under the bed and retrieved lube and condoms, tossed them on the quilt.

Aya shrugged his shirt off, and started on his jeans, but Yohji stopped him.

"Let me," he said. "It's like unwrapping a present."

Aya snorted disbelief.

"It's a turn on," Yohji said, popping the top button and toying with the tab of Aya's zipper. "Okay?"

"Whatever you want," said Aya. "So long as it gets both of us naked and on that bed so I can fuck you 'til you scream."

A broad grin spread across Yohji's face.

Yohji had Aya's jeans off in moments, and his underwear, and stroked his fingertips up his cock from root to tip, brushing a tiny drop of precome off the end and touching it to his tongue.

Aya pulled him close and kissed him hard, his fingers tangling in dark blonde hair, steering them both towards the bed until the backs of Yohji's legs struck the mattress. A single push made Yohji collapse onto his back; Aya swiftly stripped him of his remaining clothes and joined him on the bed, straddling his thighs, leaning down to carry on kissing him.

Passion spread quickly through Aya's body, clouding his thoughts, making everything simple. Just Yohji, here, beautiful and fragile and deadly and wanting him. Just Yohji.

Yohji moaned into the kiss and wound his arms around Aya's neck, wrists crossed behind his head, wriggling around until their cocks were brushing each other, hardness to hardness. It sent a thrill shooting up Aya's spine, and it was tempting to wrap his hand around both their cocks and bring them off like that. Maybe later. More than anything, he wanted to be inside Yohji again, to sink into the bliss of his body and hide.

He reached impatiently for lube and condom, and shifted so he knelt between Yohji's legs, smoothing Yohji's thighs apart. He prepared them both quickly, resisting the urge to spend time fingering and licking Yohji's ass - later, later - and within minutes he was feeding his cock slowly inside. It was incredibly tight, and hot, and felt like heaven, gripping him with perfect pressure as he pushed himself in.

"Shit, Aya, it's been a while. Take it easy."

"Sorry," he said, and meant it. He looked down at Yohji's face, and waited for him to adjust a little, smoothing the ragged hair away from his cheeks.

"Okay," said Yohji. "It feels good. Just... take it slow."

That was going to take a supreme force of will, Aya realised, but he did his best. He waited until the pain had faded from Yohji's eyes, and Yohji's legs were wrapped around his waist, before he finished filling him, and then when he started to thrust he forced himself to take it as slow as he could. It got easy when he noticed Yohji's response: he was tilting his hips to meet every thrust, stroking his own cock and chewing on his lower lip; little moans escaped from his throat every time Aya sank in to the hilt.

His head was thrown back, his neck a graceful arch, his chest golden and glinting with a faint sheen of sweat.

Beautiful.

It was Yohji who picked up the pace in the end, begging to be fucked hard and fast, pulling Aya down to be kissed, their foreheads pressing together as Aya complied. Yohji came first, spurting endlessly over his own hand, his ass clenching down hard. Aya waited for him to finish, catching his breath before he took his last few strokes and let himself go, buried as deep as he could be, precious oblivion.

He wanted to sleep straight away; his body was tired and sated, his mind desperate for refuge. But he felt Yohji trembling underneath him, and not just from the aftershock. He forced himself off the bed, found a towel and quickly wiped them both down, not looking at Yohji's face.

"Under the covers, Kudoh," he said.

"You're coming too, right?" Yohji's voice was small, vulnerable. He scooted under the quilt, holding it back for Aya to join him. "In case..."

"Baka. Of course." Aya threw the towel into a corner, and slid into bed beside him, scooping him into his arms. "I'm right here, Kudoh."

"Thanks." Yohji kissed his neck, and cuddled himself into Aya's side. Aya turned out the light and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of sex and Yohji and the distant sound of traffic. Tokyo.

Home.

* * * * * * *

He woke early the next morning, and prepared for his first shift, resigned to working alone until Yohji dragged himself out of bed. His worktable waited for him, ribbon and roses and scissors. As if they'd never been away, as if the shop hadn't been wrecked and closed for months. As if all this was normal.

The shop had only been open half an hour when Birman arrived.

He was wound up tight in an instant, every muscle tense. It had to be Aya-chan. Not an ordinary mission, not some unspeakable evil or political atrocity, it must be his sister.

_Please, let it be Aya._

He pressed his back to the wall by the cold metal stairs that descended into the mission room, and closed his eyes. He heard Yohji's leaden footsteps as he dragged himself, yawning, to join them.

"A new mission this early in the morning?" he complained. "This is abuse."

Aya's eyes flickered open for long enough to flash Yohji a glare; he noticed with satisfaction that Birman was doing the same.

He wondered fleetingly whether Birman had really got this job because Manx had belonged to Persia, or whether Kritiker had found out that Yohji had finally got his way and slept with her, and were somehow concerned that such a union might upset their operation. Either way, it looked as if Birman was short on patience where Kudoh Yohji was concerned.

They hadn't found Aya.

The rest of the day was flowers and research and endless katas in the dojo; blending technique with the new found strength and muscle he'd gained from months on the construction site. The four of them ate dinner together, Ken relaying the story about the woman who'd stopped by that morning and wanted flowers to decorate a church, animatedly certain that she was connected somehow with the mission. Aya only half-listened, distracted by the half-formed plans mulling around his mind, and by Yohji's foot, which was stroking its way up his leg while Yohji chatted innocently with Omi. It felt uncomfortably normal, seductive, as if they weren't a bunch of miserable killers, as if they were ordinary guys sharing a house, and there was nothing wrong, no-one missing, as if...

Aya dropped his chopsticks on his still-full plate and pushed his chair back from the table, fighting down the urge to hit something. He stalked from the room without a word, or a look, wanting only escape.

"Aya-kun?" came Omi's surprised, concerned voice.

"Leave him, chibi," Yohji soothed. "He needs to be alone."

Aya slammed the door behind him, cursing Yohji for knowing him so well.

He walked for hours, trying to think of some kind of plan, of any way he could find Aya-chan. Botan had been right, it was impossible. All he could do was to wait for Kritiker. Again. Wait for the next mission after this one, and the next, and the next, until finally he had something to work with. Just like Takatori. Someone else's agenda, someone else's plan. Powerless. Hopeless. Alone.

It was past midnight when he finally returned to the Koneko, and the shop and the apartments above were in darkness. He hung his coat on its usual peg, kicked off his shoes and wearily climbed the stairs.

Yohji was waiting for him, sitting on the top stair, smoking.

"I was about to come looking for you," he said.

"The mission?" asked Aya, a fragile spark of optimism igniting in him at the thought that maybe Kritiker had found something.

"No," said Yohji, with a grin. "Just horny."

Aya glared at him, hope dying painfully inside.

"Oh," said Yohji, the grin fading. He watched Aya closely, far too closely, until Aya had to do something just to escape from his gaze. He closed the distance between them and knelt on the stair below Yohji's, cradled Yohji's head in one hand and kissed him.

His body rewarded him with a rush of lust; his mind struggled against the comfort of Yohji's arm sliding around him for a moment but finally surrendered, and for a few heartbeats he allowed himself to feel something other than anger and pain.

"Bed," he murmured against Yohji's lips. "Now, bed."

"Okay," said Yohji, stroking Aya's bangs out of his eyes, kissing his jaw and cheek and neck. "If you insist."

He made to stand up, but Aya stopped him, overwhelmed suddenly by a flood of emotion he had no idea what to do with. He pulled Yohji close, held him so tight it must have hurt, squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his face into Yohji's shoulder, fighting down the choking tears that burned his throat. Yohji stroked his back, and kissed his hair, and waited.

There was a sound; a door opening further up the landing, Omi's soft voice, then Ken's laughter. The door creaked closed again.

Aya took a shuddering breath, and sighed painfully. "Yohji-" he started, but Yohji silenced him with a kiss, his fingers clutched firm and certain in Aya's hair.

"We'll find her, Aya," whispered Yohji. "Wherever she is. I promise."

Aya answered him with a silent nod, his body rigid with grief, and wished he dared believe him.


	9. 6: control

Aya paced through the flames to deliver justice.

Scarcely feeling the heat licking at his skin, all his attention focused on the car, side-on to him as he approached, and the targets it contained. Essett. Four evil souls to take.

The car door opened, and his sister stumbled out.

Not his sister.

Sakura. Sakura?

"Aya... please don't do this anymore."

Aya's heart thudded in his chest. It wasn't her. It was Sakura.

She raised shaking arms and pointed a gun at him. Her eyes were odd: blank, unseeing, tearless, as she clicked the safety off.

He could die here.

No.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Aya-san. But if I don't do this-"

Aya's sharp eyes caught movement from the far side of the car, a flash of orange hair.

Schuldig.

Sakura staggered towards him on leaden limbs. "Hand me the sword, Aya. Please."

As if she had the strength to so much as lift it.

He drew his katana as if to strike: a direct challenge to Schuldig, rather than Sakura. Testing him. The twisted fuck didn't think Aya would kill his puppet.

Would he?

He heard Omi hiss in a breath.

"Aya-san." Sakura pleaded.

Aya stared into Sakura's blank, purple eyes, and waited. He was aware of others: the rest of Weiss and Schwartz watching the little drama play out in front of them like a game.

She didn't so much as flinch.

He threw the sword at her feet.

"Thank God." Her whole body drooped; lax arms lowered the gun, but before Aya had a chance to react she was jerked suddenly upright again. She trembled with the effort of fighting Schuldig's control, but it was pointless.

"Your sister's being held at..."

Aya held himself perfectly still, not breathing, just waiting, hardly able to believe what was happening. Willing her to fight, to speak.

"She's at..."

The gun shook in her fingers.

"What about Aya?" he gasped, unable to control himself.

"Shoot him!" Schuldig's command rang out a second before the gunshot; Sakura screamed, and Aya felt a searing pain in his right arm. He clamped his gloved hand over it, clenched his teeth to keep from yelling out. He'd been shot before, though, and he knew it wasn't bad. It hurt too much for that.

"Go on, take better aim!" Schuldig was urging her on. "You can't be a good assassin if you fuck it up like that."

Aya gasped for breath, hating Schuldig more than ever for the obscenity of his plan, for trying to turn an innocent girl into a killer.

He braced himself for the next shot, looked deep into her blank eyes, willing her to resist. Not daring to make a move for fear of what Schuldig would do to her in retaliation.

Her finger shook on the trigger, about to fire, but Yohji's wire sang silver through the air and snatched it from her trembling fingers. Sakura yelled, sank to her knees, the spell broken. She looked up at Aya with terror and grief in her eyes.

Too many things happened at once: he reached for his sword, about to grab Sakura, but she was already gone. Sirens were blaring. He saw Yohji reluctantly pulling Ken back from a fight; Farfarello and the others bundling into a car.

She was in the car. Sakura was in the car.

Too late.

She was gone, and any hope he had of finding Aya-chan gone with her.

"Aya...." he murmured, not really able to believe that his chance had been snatched away so suddenly.

"Aya-kun." Omi's soft, sad voice.

"Not only did we fuck up the mission," said Yohji, his voice coming from a long, long way away, "but Sakura's been kidnapped. Talk about a screw-up."

"Yeah."

Gone. He'd had a chance, a single, precious chance, and it had gone, whisked away from under him, leaving him cold and empty.

He drew his sword, and held it to the sky, consumed with a desperation to soak the blade in blood and vengeance. Hating himself for the futile, dramatic gesture, but needing it nonetheless.

_~I promise, Aya. I won't fail you. I will find you.~_

* * * * * * *

Aya lay awake for a long time that night, watching shadows playing on the ceiling of his room, visual echoes of passing cars and streetlights. He could hear the others downstairs, watching an old movie, by the sounds of it. Ken and Yohji were arguing about some actor; Omi's voice cut through their banter from time to time, placating them both. There was even laughter.

It seemed obscene.

Eventually, Aya slept.

He woke suddenly, as if startled by a loud noise, or a threat.

It was quiet; the patterns on the ceiling were static. It was late.

He couldn't breathe.

He scrambled to sitting, gathered his thoughts and methodically forced air in and out of his lungs, wrestled his body back under control, slowed his heartbeat.

But he couldn't stop shaking. He was shaking.

He got out of bed, and managed to pull his robe on. He suddenly didn't want to be alone. He didn't know why. He wasn't him. But he needed. Someone, anyone, a living, breathing person, to remind him of who he was. What he was.

He looked down at his trembling hands as he fumbled to tie his robe. Aware that his breathing was short and shallow, his throat tight.

He stumbled across the room, not even pausing to put on the light, and opened the door to find the landing empty, grey and yellow in the gloomy overhead light. Ken's door was wide open, his bed still made. Of course, Ken hardly ever slept there any more; only when Omi was up late doing homework or mission reports.

Aya let the familiar names and thoughts play in his mind, soothing. For a moment, he started to feel better.

But only for a moment. Omi and Yohji's doors were firmly closed, and there was no sound from either of them. Everyone was asleep and...

... and he was knocking on Yohji's door.

He couldn't help himself.

It took Yohji a while to answer, of course. He must have been asleep. If Aya could have moved, he would have given up, gone back to his room, cursed himself for being such an idiot. But he was frozen to the spot, and even when the door opened he couldn't do anything but stand there, and blink, and breathe.

Yohji looked pissed off at first, but only for a moment. The sleep and anger swiftly faded from his face, to be replaced by alarm. Concern.

"Fuck, Aya, you look like death. Are you okay?"

"I don't think so," Aya heard himself say. "Can I come in?"

"Of course. Shit, of course." Yohji shoved the door open wide, and guided Aya into the room with a strong arm around his shoulders.

* * * * * * *

Aya perched on the edge of Yohji's bed, a blanket draped over his shoulders, a tumbler of whiskey cradled in his hands.

"You haven't got a temperature," said Yohji, quietly. "I thought maybe you were burning up from the wound, but..."

"I had a dream," said Aya.

He took a gulp of the whiskey; it burned his gullet all the way down, liquid fire. He locked stillness into his muscles, hoping Yohji wouldn't see how much he was shaking.

Yohji picked up his cigarettes from the nightstand, and sat in the window. Aya watched as he shook one out, lit it, and took the first long, blissful drag of the nicotine addict. A familiar, comforting ritual.

"Aya-chan?" said Yohji.

Aya nodded. "I dreamed she was trying to kill me." His voice was subdued, very quiet. "We found her, and she hadn't been kidnapped at all. She had joined Schwartz to kill me, because she found out what I'd done."

"That's not surprising, after tonight," said Yohji. "Sakura..."

"I've dreamed it before," Aya confessed. "It was just... worse."

"Oh." Yohji didn't probe any further. He understood the power of dreams.

"Do you still dream? About..."

"Asuka? Oh yes. It's different now, though. I relive it, you know? Sometimes when I wake up I can still feel her, writhing on my back, hear the wire..." Yohji shuddered, leaning hard against the wall behind him, as if to reassure himself that there was only cold brick there. "We're such fuck-ups."

Aya drained his glass, and held it out to be refilled. Yohji complied, topping up his own at the same time.

"It'll be different for you, though," said Yohji. "You'll get Aya-chan back. Your nightmare hasn't come true yet."

Aya-chan seemed almost unreal to Aya at that moment. He tried to make sense of it, to feel it. He had a sister. He had a sister, who was in danger. He had to save her.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"Aya?"

He heard Yohji's voice, he was about to look up when something splashed into his drink, distracted him.

Tears.

He was crying.

"Fuck, Aya..." Yohji was next to him, all of a sudden, sliding an arm around him, trying to comfort his stiff, bony body. "Aya... is there something I can do? Anything? Aya?"

He couldn't answer, couldn't say anything. A sob somehow escaped; he clenched his teeth and pulled the blanket tight around him, as if it were the cold that was making him shiver.

"It's okay," said Yohji. "I'm here. It's okay."

It was the pain and worry in Yohji's eyes that sent him over the edge, in the end. It must be real, then, if Yohji was so concerned. Yes. This wasn't right. Not at all. This was...

Feelings he couldn't name bunched in his chest, tight and hurting. He couldn't fight it any more. Couldn't keep it all inside. It was too much.

Aya let out a low, gut-wrenching scream. A horrific, painful noise. He couldn't stop. He howled, and sobbed, and tried to curl his body up into a ball; his fingers clawed at his hair, and he gasped for breath. His chest hurt, his soul hurt, he wanted to kick and scream and die. Just... die. He wanted to crawl out of his body, out of this bottomless, endless pain, and die.

He heard Yohji's voice, but he wasn't reaching him, no-one could reach him. No-one could understand. He was alone, with a pain so awful, so huge, he couldn't contain it any more. It would consume him, torture him, and then he would die.

"Aya, stop it! For fuck's sake, stop it. Look at me."

Not a sympathetic voice, not the soothing concern he'd shown before. Angry and brutal, like a slap.

He snatched a breath, and blinked up at Yohji though stinging tears.

"That's better. I need you to listen very carefully, Aya." Yohji gripped Aya's jaw in his hand, locked eyes with him. "You're going to be alright. And I will not let you give up on your sister."

Aya looked at him in hurt confusion; his lips moved, but he couldn't speak. He snapped his head away.

"That's what you'll be doing, if you give in to this now. They will have won. We need you sharp, and thinking, and clever. We won't be able to do this without you. She needs you. We need you."

Aya's shattered emotions started to harden into something more familiar, cold and brittle. He scrubbed the tears and snot from his face with the edge of the blanket, and glared at Yohji. "You bastard."

"If I have to be. Don't make me, Aya. Come on. You can do this."

Aya gave a harsh, involuntary sob, the shudder of his shoulders pulling at his wound and making him yelp. Yohji was touching him again, smoothing his hair back from his tearstained face.

"Aya?"

He didn't answer. Couldn't. Instead he rested his forehead on Yohji's shoulder, slipped his arms around Yohji's waist, and let Yohji comfort him. He slowly closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and pulled big, deep breaths of air into his lungs.

"That's better. Let me take care of you."

Such a seductive thought; he could slip away, let go completely, and let Yohji do everything. Make all his decisions, tell him what to do, who to kill, who to save, when to die. So simple.

"Let's get under the covers. You're still shivering."

Yohji was right, he was, but now it really was at least partly from the cold. Aya stood while Yohji pulled back the comforter and crisp, clean linen, and didn't flinch when Yohji tugged at his robe. He loosened off the tie and let the silk fall from his shoulders, landing in a puddle by his feet. Yohji picked it up and tossed it on a nearby chair, and pushed Aya back towards the bed.

He slipped gratefully between the cool cotton sheets, so sleepy now that he couldn't keep his eyes open. He heard Yohji moving about the room, familiar reassuring noises of clinking glasses and cupboard doors opening and closing. Yohji told him he was going to the bathroom, and Aya nodded, nose scrubbing against the pillow, too tired to speak. He'd stopped shaking, at last, apart from the odd shudder, and by the time Yohji came back, he was almost asleep. Yohji climbed into bed and lowered the lights.

The dream came back, vivid and painful as ever, but at least he recognised it this time. He woke himself with a start.

He was lying on his side, Yohji's body warm and reassuring against his back, one arm draped over Aya's waist. Aya curled his own arm around it, hugged it closer.

His head was thick with exhaustion, but he didn't dare go back to sleep. Not yet.

"You okay?"

Yohji's voice was slow and sleepy, his lips brushing against Aya's shoulder.

"Fine. Sorry I woke you."

"'S okay. Wasn't asleep." He cuddled Aya closer, and Aya felt something hard poke at his buttocks.

"Yohji-"

"Sorry. Can't help it. It likes you." Yohji yawned; either he was lying about not having been asleep, or he'd been pretty damned close.

Aya reached down to re-arrange his own stretching cock; the feeling was obviously mutual. It astounded him how ruthless his own body could be. He was drained, exhausted and a blink of an eye from breaking down all over again, and yet all it took was one touch, one idea...

Yohji hadn't moved away.

Aya considered a possibility he'd denied himself for weeks. He was too tired to get up, he couldn't sleep, his life was a wreck. What did it matter that he had sworn, after Neu, that he'd never have sex with Yohji again? What did it matter that it always ended badly? What did it matter that he knew Yohji would be off after some woman as soon as the crisis was over? Even if, for once, it wasn't Yohji's crisis.

Aya ran his tongue over dry lips. It didn't matter at all. None of it mattered. Nothing.

He pressed his ass back into Yohji's groin, his lips curving to a knowing smile at Yohji's responding groan.

"God, Aya..."

Aya let desire wash over him, yet another anaesthetic against the burning anguish inside of him. He felt Yohji's hand sweeping across his stomach, lingering over his hip before reaching around and cupping his hardening sex.

"Oh, God, Aya... please..."

Aya pushed his ass back harder in reply, letting out a gasp as Yohji's stiff cock slipped between his buttocks. They started to rock together, Yohji slowly fucking the valley of his ass while Aya fucked Yohji's hand.

Aya sighed, losing himself in pleasure, surrendering the last shreds of his anxiety, for the moment, at least. He shifted forwards to make it easier, and as he did so Yohji's rhythm faltered, the head of his cock brushing accidentally over Aya's asshole.

Aya hissed at the sharp, unexpected jolt of pleasure, and froze. It took a few heartbeats before he registered that Yohji had stopped too, his cock teasing Aya's entrance, and then it was moving, not trying to penetrate, just flirting, brushing in seductive little circles.

"Feels good," Yohji murmured, wistfully.

Yohji didn't ask. It mattered that he didn't ask.

"If you like," said Aya, almost under his breath.

"Sorry?" Only the surging hope in Yohji's voice giving away that he'd heard him at all.

"You can put it in. If you like."

They were perfectly still, for a moment, and he could feel Yohji's heart thudding against his back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But-" Yohji pulled back slightly, hesitating. "I haven't-"

"If you don't want to-"

"No! Yes, oh, God, yes, I want to..." Yohji scattered kisses over Aya's shoulder, in his hair. "I'm just... I haven't..."

"Neither have I," Aya reminded him.

Yohji gave him a hug, as if he were thanking him, trailed kisses down his spine, and stroked the soft curves of his ass. Lingered there. Dipped his head and touched his tongue to the hollow of Aya's back and then shifted away, pulling Aya over onto his back as he reached for the nightstand drawer. He turned the lights up a little, and shoved foil packets and a fresh tube of lubricant under the pillow. Strawberry flavoured, Aya noticed.

Then he turned and looked at Aya for a moment, beautiful green eyes burning with lust and something that looked deceptively like tenderness. Aya surged up to kiss him, tongues slithering and dancing around each other. He knew he was admitting something to himself, something fierce and dangerous, something he would do better to keep buried deep, deep inside. But he couldn't help it. Not any more.

They kissed for a long time. It hadn't been much of a feature of their previous encounters, even back in the early, comfortable days before Takatori and Neu. But Yohji seemed to be determined to make up for lost time, exploring Aya's lips and teeth and every corner of his mouth, flicking his tongue against the end of Aya's; and all the while his hands moved slowly over Aya's body, until Aya's limbs felt warm and heavy, and his body started to ache.

Yohji slid slowly down his body, leaving a trail of damp kisses down his chest and belly, pausing to nuzzle Aya's cock and balls before gently parting his thighs, and kneeling between them. Aya shivered; it was suddenly chilly without the warmth of Yohji's body covering his, and he felt a little exposed, vulnerable even.

Yohji was looking at him, watching his own fingers as he stroked Aya's cock, and then moved down to tickle his balls. Aya threw his head back and closed his eyes, waiting with tense anticipation for the touch against his ass. But it didn't happen.

Yohji licked him, instead. Folded his legs back carefully to gain better access, and licked him again. Aya's fist flew to his mouth and he squirmed helplessly as Yohji's slick tongue slithered its way right into him.

He'd never felt anything like it.

"Oh, God..."

Yohji paused and raised his head, a smile in his voice. "You like that?"

"Oh, God..."

"Pass me the lube, Aya."

It took a moment for Aya to drag his mind back from the haze of pleasure Yohji had sent him to, and remember where he was. He groped for the tube under the pillow, and passed it to Yohji. Yohji took it from him and caught his wrist, pausing to suck on his fingers, catching his attention.

He flipped the cap on the lube, and stuck out his tongue, squirted a generous amount on the tip, and ducked between Aya's thighs again.

Aya's eyes flew wide as Yohji's tongue pushed inside him again, spreading the cool gel against his sensitive skin, gently stretching and wetting him. He cried out, the idea of what Yohji was doing turning him on even more than how it felt; he could sense Yohji practically purring with amusement and satisfaction at the effect he was having on him.

Finally, Yohji replaced his tongue with a finger, twisting and flicking, deeper than his tongue could hope to reach, and then two fingers. He wasn't taking any chances on Aya not being ready for this, obviously. Three fingers. It felt good, unbelievably good.

It wasn't enough.

"Yohji... now?"

"Shh. I won't hurt you."

"I'm fine. Yohji. Do it."

Yohji slowly drew his fingers out of Aya's body. There was a flush across his cheekbones, and he was breathing hard. His cock looked stiff and eager, and suddenly very big. Yohji reached for a condom, pulled the packet to his teeth to rip it open.

Aya reached out a hand to stop him. Yohji raised an eyebrow.

"Are you safe?" Aya asked.

They looked at each other for a long, steady moment.

"Yes," said Yohji, softly.

Aya took the half-opened condom from his hand, and tossed it away. Pulled Yohji down to kiss him, plunging his tongue into Yohji's mouth without hesitation. He tasted of synthetic strawberry flavouring and the tang of lube that could never quite be covered up, but Aya didn't care. It felt good, it stole his breath and stopped him thinking.

"Promise you'll stop me the second it hurts," said Yohji.

Aya felt like a virgin. Ridiculous, but then the whole night had been unreal.

"Just do it, Kudoh."

Yohji grinned at him, and hitched his legs up over his shoulders.

It wasn't as if Aya didn't know what to expect. It wasn't the act itself that made him chew his lower lip, hold his breath, and squeeze his eyes tight shut.

It was just that there was no going back. It meant far, far too much.

"Aya, look at me."

Reluctantly, Aya opened his eyes, and found Yohji leaning over him, concerned, his hair tickling Aya's face.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Yohji said.

Aya blinked at him. That was so unexpected that he relaxed, despite himself, and in that instant the head of Yohji's cock slipped inside him. Just a little way. Until it felt resistance. Yohji paused, keeping up a constant, aching pressure, not-quite pain; then Aya's body gave way and Yohji slid in to the hilt.

"Shit, that's... big," said Aya.

Yohji smirked at him.

"I didn't mean-" Aya started, but Yohji silenced him with a kiss, deep and hard and triumphant. Kept kissing him until he'd got used to the stiff heat inside of him, and was itching for it to move, his cock hard and leaking between their bellies.

"Ready, lover?" Yohji whispered.

Aya nodded.

Yohji fucked him in slow, careful strokes, his gaze fixed on Aya's face all the while. Aya watched the pleasure and heat and passion build in his eyes, mixed with tenderness and other things Aya was careful not to name.

The pleasure built quickly, the dual stimulation of Yohji's hand stroking his erection and Yohji's cock rubbing against the sweet spot inside him more intense than anything he'd felt before. He didn't fight it; he could tell that Yohji was close too. His pace quickened, hips flexing, his hand tightening around Aya's sex.

Just before he came, Aya realised that Yohji was waiting for him. Biting his lower lip, stopping when the rhythm became too tempting, his shoulders shaking with the effort of controlling his own body for Aya's pleasure. It was that thought that sent Aya over the edge, that and the incredible sensation of being full and lost and out of control... hips surging up, over and over, his cock swelling and spurting over Yohji's hand. Yohji yelled as Aya's ass clenched around him, and thrust deep, pulsing warm, slick life into him.

"Oh fuck, Aya, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..."

Yohji was trembling in the aftermath, his body still jerking, hips twitching, his eyes open, gazing at Aya as if he were something incredible and unique and wonderful.

Aya dispelled that thought as ridiculous, and tangled his fingers in Yohji's hair, rocking his body to take the last few thrusts.

They panted together for a few moments, before Aya started to become aware of an ache in his thighs, and Yohji's arms finally gave way. He'd meant to say things, afterwards, to make it clear that his was a crazy night, a one off, that it didn't... mean...

Aya was asleep before he could say a word.

* * * * * * *

He awoke to find Yohji watching him. Propped up on one elbow, smoking.

It startled him and irritated him all at once; he coughed.

"Sorry," said Yohji, but he made no move to put out the cigarette.

Aya shifted slowly to sitting, wincing a little as his body protested the movement.

"Stings a bit, eh?" said Yohji.

"No," said Aya, although it did, a little. "I got shot, remember?"

"Hm," said Yohji, a smug grin flashing across his face for an instant. "You okay? Really?"

The world settled into place around Aya in all its morbid familiarity; the knot of anxiety in his belly, the desperation. The cold fear that Aya-chan might be dead.

And with it, the absolute determination that Schwartz were not going to win. He'd find her, save her, and kill them all.

"I'm fine," he said.

* * * * * * *

Aya hovered outside the door to the shop, searching for his work apron. It was dark already, the day had gone by quickly. Well, he'd slept through most of it; it had been nearly midday by the time they'd woken, and Yohji had kept him in bed for a while after that.

He swallowed down a surge of guilt at the memory of that stolen pleasure, and concentrated on hunting for his apron.

"There's probably no point in opening the store at the moment," Omi was saying.

"The girls aren't coming around," came Yohji's voice, mournfully.

Aya stiffened, forced himself not to think. He found his apron at last, and busied himself pulling it on.

"Why?" said Ken, teasing. "Are you lonely, Yohji?"

"Baka!" Yohji snapped, and might have said more, if they hadn't been distracted by a sudden screech of tyres outside the shop.

Aya followed them outside just in time to see Birman collapse on the pavement. Ken and Omi were at her side, Yohji on his way.

"You're hurt!" Omi ran expert eyes over her wounds. "We have to get you treated."

Birman flinched, and tried to get up. "Don't worry, I'm okay."

"But-"

She ignored him, looking for Aya instead. "Listen, Aya. We found your sister."

He stared back at her, unable for a moment to believe his ears. Not daring to believe his ears.

Yohji was already running for the Seven.

* * * * * * *

Aya sat by his bed, stroking Aya-chan's hair back from her face.

He felt numb, still unable to take it in. To touch her again, to see her, to feel her pulse strong under his fingers...

"I don't get it," said Ken. "Why did they leave her behind?"

It had puzzled all of them. Finding Aya bundled in a cupboard, of all places, as if she'd been hidden... for a moment Aya had thought she was dead, or not Aya-chan at all, but Sakura...

Sakura.

"Oh no," he murmured.

It wasn't over, yet.


	10. Interlude: Meditation 3

Aya sat in the car, a plain blue Toyota rather than his beloved Porsche, and stared intently out of the window. His white knuckled hands clenched the steering wheel as he watched Aya-chan opening up the flower shop.

She carried out buckets of flowers one by one, humming to herself as she worked, tweaking blooms into place. Tasks he'd done himself, day after day after day while he was caring for her, searching for her, always thinking of her. Always.

He wondered if she ever thought of him.

Once or twice, when he'd phoned the shop, unable to stop himself, desperate to hear her voice, she'd sounded a little breathless, excited... but how could she know it was him? More likely she'd expected it to be some new boyfriend on the other end of the line.

Except. There was no boyfriend. He knew. He knew when her classes were, which shifts she worked in the shop, what she was studying, which teachers she liked and which she hated, and he knew she didn't have a boyfriend.

Kritiker had their uses, after all.

Why hadn't it stopped?

His chest still ached from Schion's blade, his mentor's words still rang in his ears.

_"Go back to your sister... she's been waiting for you for so long..."_

Was she waiting for him?

He ought to go. He was meeting Yohji in half an hour, he had to go.

There was so little left. Schion and his group had swept through their lives like fire, leaving only the bare bones of Kritiker behind. So many gone - Manx, Birman, Kurasuma.... Even Weiss themselves... Omi was living with his grandfather now, Ken was in Kritiker's psychiatric unit, and Yohji-

Yohji was fighting his demons, as always. Alone.

The thought made Aya ache inside, but he told himself it didn't matter. He'd always known the end would come, again, and this was it.

He yearned to rush into the Koneko and sweep Aya-chan into his arms, twirl her around and bury his face in her sweet-smelling hair. To tell her he loved her, to hear her laughter.

But it was too dangerous, for her and for him. He needed to keep his focus. He couldn't have her in his life, so he needed to make her world better, the only way he really knew how.

Whenever Kritiker called him, Aya knew he'd be there. With that acceptance came an odd kind of peace. Aya-chan would never know his secret; she'd always remember the brother he'd wanted to be for her. This was his choice. It was enough.

He remembered a night, just a few months ago. Before Schion. When Yohji had crawled back from some bar, drunk and miserable, and looked at Aya with big green eyes, begging for comfort.

As if he could give Yohji the kind of comfort he wanted, sharing a trailer with Ken and Omi. Especially a feuding Ken and Omi.

So they went to a hotel.

Aya's eyes slid closed at the memory. Of hopeless kisses, the functional press of bodies. Sordid and pointless. Yohji tense, quiet, unreachable. His beauty tainted; polluted by his own misery.

Never again.

It had been so inevitable that it wasn't even a betrayal, when Yohji returned to the ghost of Asuka to wallow in his own sin. As inevitable as Ken's bloodlust, as Omi being a Takatori. Aya had known. Aya had always known.

With acceptance comes peace.

Aya-chan turned, and looked towards the car; Aya only just managed to duck down in time. He could feel her: her eyes searching the street on a whim, endlessly optimistic, sensing him close to her. His heart pounded in his chest, as if an enemy was stalking him.

He heard the distant, familiar ring of the Koneko door as Aya-chan went back inside.

Aya started the car, and drove away.


	11. Interlude: Counterpoint 2

She looked like Asuka.

Of course she did. They all looked like Asuka. But this one was different. There was something else in there, something cold and dark, a siren song to Yohji's soul. She was temptation and heartbreak, strong and dangerous, and Yohji was helpless. Paralysed by the treachery he already knew was inside of her, greedy and ready to consume him.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Vodka martini, no ice." She recrossed long legs, slender and graceful.

"My name's Yohji. Kudoh Yohji. You staying here at the hotel?"

"On business. My name's Fiona. You're Japanese?"

"Mostly."

"And you're here-"

"On business, too."

"I find it hard to believe that a man as attractive as you has business in this seedy little town."

"It's true." He caught her gaze and held it. "I never lie to women."

Every detail was intact: the rich purr of her voice, the mole just under one eye, the dark fall of hair. So familiar that Yohji wasn't even surprised any more.

She took out a cigarette and he lit it for her, barely trembling when she cupped her hand over his to shield the flame from the non-existent breeze.

"Are you lonely?" she said. "I'm at a loose end until tomorrow. We could spend some time together."

Direct and to the point.

"You don't even know me," said Yohji. "I could be some kind of psychopath."

A half-smile crawled across her face.

"Maybe I'm looking for a psychopath."

He returned her smile with one no less insincere, and held out his hand.

He felt some kind of perverse need to impress, once they got to bed. Pulled out all the tricks in his extensive repertoire, had her writhing and squealing in pleasure. Licked and kissed and touched, even tried to lose himself.

He let her come before he fastened his fingers around her throat.

He waited for her to struggle, to writhe, to gasp and choke and beg. But she didn't.

She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming, and dared him to kill her.

He clenched his fingers tight around her neck. Not with the pain and desperation that he'd felt before. Looking down at her, unable to take his eyes off the tiny mole, high on her cheekbone, his grief and anger froze and hardened in his chest to a steady, ache, pulsing with his heartbeat.

If this was what he had become, so be it.

He'd lost Asuka. He'd lost Aya. He deserved the living hell his life had become, endlessly tortured by his own failure.

If he was meant to kill, so be it.

Warm satisfaction spread through him as the courage turned to panic in her eyes. Not so keen to die after all. Still enough of a spark under whatever bitterness her soul was coated with to want to remain in this shit hole of a world and torture him.

If this nightmare was his reality, so be it.

She snapped her body up with remarkable strength, slender arms cracking against his to knock him away. Breaking his litany, ensuring his failure. The guilt and horror flooded in on him, wrenching a sob from his gut as he fell back on the bed. If she was that strong, perhaps she could kill him.

He dared to hope.

"You're dangerous, Kudoh."

He flung an arm across his eyes, to hide his tears.

"We could have a future together, you and I."

He could barely hear her through the roaring in his ears, let alone make sense of her words. He felt the bed shift; she straddled him, wet warmth spreading over his thighs. She pried his arm away from his face, leaned down and kissed him.

"Fiona?"

"That's not my real name. It's Michelle."

He didn't question why she'd given him a false name. What did it matter to him? There was only one name in his mind when he looked at her.

"I'm sorry I hurt you."

"No, you're not. But we can work on that. I guess you have a few issues. That wasn't for fun, was it?"

"I got carried away is all."

He wanted her to stop talking, to stop sitting on him, to go away and leave him alone with a bottle and the hope of the mission Kritiker had promised him and Ken here in Europe.

"Next time, it'll be different, you'll see."

He snorted. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Go home. You don't want to get mixed up with a guy like me."

"I can help." She rained butterfly kisses across his chest and neck, down to his belly. "This helps, doesn't it, Kudoh? Helps you forget? Helps make it better?"

His body instinctively rose to meet her caress, despite the revulsion he felt inside at his own fickle senses.

"No," he lied. "Go home."

She ignored him, and fastened her lips around his hardening cock, and started to suck.

"I said..."

But what was the point, in the end? It felt good, the hot-wet and grip, the slide and the press and the ache. It did make it better, it did make him forget, and if it would all come back, twice as hard and twice as painful in the morning, didn't he deserve it?

If he was to fall into the trap again, if he was to be betrayed and punished...

So be it.


	12. 7: Ghost

Aya had just finished clearing away the supper things when he heard the back door open. He looked up; Ken came in first, grim satisfaction and a natural, friendly smile on his face.

"Hey, Aya. Good to see you."

They clasped shoulders briefly and exchanged nods. Then, and only then, did Aya look at Yohji.

He was wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat, and he'd changed his hair again. Cut short, dyed daffodil-yellow. Aya hated it. He wore a lilac silk shirt over dark pants, a small, silver cross at his throat. Still.

Aya's fingers unconsciously went to the larger, bolder cross tied around his own neck on a leather thong, and remembered Yohji putting it there one foolish, sentimental afternoon in Kyoto.

"Aya," said Yohji, his lips curving into an irresistible grin.

"Yohji," said Aya, with a nod.

And the hint of a smile he couldn't catch in time.

Ken was already out of the room, lugging his huge kit bag up the stairs. They were alone, although Aya was certain Yohji wouldn't have cared if they hadn't been. He stalked across the room, looked into Aya's eyes for a moment before he kissed him, hard. His fingers wound around the thick plait of Aya's hair, as their tongues wound together.

"I need to fuck you, Aya," Yohji said, his voice low and husky as he pressed his hips against Aya's. "Your room or mine?"

Aya hesitated, for the barest moment. Yohji didn't want him, not really. It meant that another woman had come and gone, and Yohji couldn't face the nightmares alone. Nothing had changed, in all these years.

Except...

Aya had changed. As Yohji drew back Aya chased his mouth with his own and kissed him back. It didn't matter any more. He'd made his choices, for all that they'd lead him straight to Hell. He'd told Sena that he cherished his human weakness now, and it hadn't been a lie.

If this was part of his weakness, a vestige of humanity for him to cling to, he had no intention of casting it aside. Yohji felt good in his arms, beautiful and desperate as always, and Aya led him upstairs, ignoring Sena's squeak of surprise as they passed him on the stairs. He dragged Yohji to his room, and threw him on the bed.

Yohji let himself be thrown, green eyes glittering at him through long lashes.

"Pants off, Kudoh."

Aya watched Yohji undress out of the corner of his eye as he retrieved the necessary things from a drawer and chucked them on the comforter next to Yohji's pale, slender form. Noticed new bruises, new scars, the awkward way Yohji held his left arm.

"Broken?" he asked, frowning.

"Cracked, turns out. It's okay." But he winced as he shrugged.

"What happened?"

"Fell off a building."

"Clumsy," said Aya, settling himself on his knees between Yohji's thighs.

"Bitch decided if she was going to Hell she'd try and take me with her."

Aya knelt there, one hand on each of Yohji's knees, and looked into his eyes properly, for the first time in months. "You never learn."

Yohji tipped a glance to his left shoulder, and the tattoo that was etched there. "Famous for it."

Aya dropped his head to kiss Yohji's knee, and licked a line down his inner thigh. Taking satisfaction in the gasp it produced from Yohji's lips, the subtle arch of his spine. Yohji's cock was already half-hard, easily roused to full erection with a few swipes of Aya's tongue. His fingers teased the sensitive ridge of flesh between Yohji's ass and balls.

Aya was breathing hard, his head buzzing, his whole body alive and wanting. Nobody could do this to him like Yohji. Nobody. He slicked them both and deftly rolled the condom on, needing to sink inside that perfect body as soon as he could. Before it all fell apart again..

Before Asuka reclaimed him.

He told himself he didn't care.

He kissed Yohji's mouth, and barely stretched his hole before he nudged inside. Yohji grunted approval, even though it must have hurt a little; and pressed his feet against Aya's back, drawing him irresistibly inside, inch by glorious inch.

Once he was completely buried in the hot, tight tunnel of Yohji's ass, Aya paused. Gave him a chance to get used to it. Whatever this strange thing was that he and Yohji had, it wasn't to do with punishment. Not now. Now it felt more like refuge; familiar lust laced with the promise of bitter disappointment.

"Ready?"

Yohji nodded, taking Aya's braid again, twisting it around his arm like a lifeline. "Fuck me. Hard. Like you mean it."

As if he didn't always mean it.

He gave Yohji what he wanted: fast, brutal thrusts, slamming into him over and over, watching Yohji's tense, screwed up face, listening to the grunts that accompanied every thrust, louder and louder each time, until Yohji came. Very fast, long before Aya was ready, long thick ropes of it striping his belly and splashing against Aya's chest. Aya held still, gritting his teeth against the fierce clench of Yohji's spasming ass until he'd done.

Then he dipped his head, and kissed Yohji's flushed lips, slid his tongue into the warm cavern of Yohji's mouth to soothe and calm him; slow and sensual, caressing his tongue, swiping inside his lower lip and pausing to nibble at it. Brushing noses, kissing Yohji's eyelids, his hair, sucking gently on the fleshy lobe of his ear. Trailing kisses down his throat, licking the clean angle between shoulder and neck.

"Fuck, Aya... oh... damn, I only just came and already..."

Aya smiled softly to himself, and started to move again. Slowly, this time, his own natural rhythm. He dabbled his fingertips in the cooling streaks of semen on Yohji's belly and spread it around, swirling it around his nipples, wishing it was safe to taste it. Yohji's eyes fluttered open and he visibly relaxed, arching his back and offering himself to Aya with all his old sensuality and grace, the beautiful man that Aya had made a fool of himself over so many, many times...

"So good..." Yohji murmured, gazing at Aya with an oddly innocent expression on his face. He captured a length of Aya's hair that had escaped his plait, and twisted it around his index finger like he used to do with his eartails. Gazed at it as if he'd never seen hair before. Smiled a tiny, genuine smile for a moment; so sweet it stole Aya's breath. But it was there for only an instant: it was as if there was some demon in Yohji's mind that watched for his tenderness and stamped on it, switching off the smile and replacing it with the mocking, sexy grin that Yohji normally used. Beautiful, but false.

Aya could feel his pleasure mounting, even though he held it back as long as he could. He slickened his fingers with Yohji's come and wrapped them around his cock, watched him gasp and moan and whimper as he stroked him.

"Faster," Yohji breathed. "Please, Aya... faster..."

Aya considered denying him, torturing him for a while, making him beg. But it was a little too close to what he wanted himself for him to resist; he picked up the pace, not a lot but enough, his thrusts still slow but more purposeful, each ending with a shuddering pause, buried deep in the incredible heat of Yohji's ass, until he felt the tell tale throbbing of Yohji's cock. Then he let himself go, filling the condom he wished wasn't there, suddenly sad, a sharp spike of regret amidst the euphoria.

Aya slumped, panting, his head drooping between quivering shoulders, his eyes closed. He listened to the rhythm of Yohji's breathing as it slowed to normal, and the fingers clutching his hips relaxed their hold.

"Aya... fuck, that was good. God, I missed you."

Aya pulled himself away, avoiding Yohji's gaze.

"Aya?"

"Don't say things you don't mean, Yohji."

"I do mean it." Yohji caught the end of Aya's long plait and tugged on it. "I always miss you."

Aya snatched his hair out of Yohji's hand, and rolled off the bed. He crossed the room to his desk, grabbed a handful of tissues and started to clean himself up.

"I can see you didn't miss me." Yohji sighed heavily.

Aya spun around to glare at Yohji, and threaten to beat some sense into him, but the picture in front of him stole his breath. Yohji, stretched out like a spoiled cat, languid and beautiful and dangerous as ever. There was no point trying to change him, after all. There never had been.

"It's good to see you," he admitted. He snagged a towel from the back of a chair and threw it at the vision on the bed. Yohji caught it deftly and set about cleaning himself up.

"I was sorry to hear about Kyou."

"Yes," said Aya. "Sena hasn't taken it well. They were close."

"Poor kid."

"He's thinking of leaving."

"Leaving Weiss? Do they allow that now?" Yohji dropped the towel over the edge of the bed. He made no sign of putting his clothes back on.

"I allow it," said Aya.

Yohji raised an eyebrow. "Who died and made you Persia?"

Aya glared at him. "Things have changed. It's not like it was when we started out."

"Really?" Yohji looked far from convinced. "We still kill people, right?"

"What happened in Europe, Yohji?"

Yohji avoided his gaze, fiddling with the corner of the towel. "The usual. We came, we saw, we killed everyone. Stole the data, blew up the building. Didn't you read Ken's report?"

"That's not what I meant. You know that's not what I meant. Are you clean?"

"Yes." Yohji glowered at him like a rebellious teenager.

"Drinking?"

"Not much. Not enough." He pulled himself to sitting and reached for his shirt.

"Who was she?"

Yohji shifted uncomfortably, stuffing his arms into his shirt. "No-one important."

"Did she-"

"She's dead."

Another ghost to add to the collection. Aya knelt on the bed, took Yohji's hand and twined their fingers together. Yohji stared down as he did it, then looked up sharply, and for a moment Aya saw the full intensity of fear and panic and self hatred in his beautiful green eyes.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," Yohji snapped, wrenching his hand and his gaze away. "Do we have new orders yet?"

"Tomorrow," said Aya, sadly, watching as Yohji reached for his pants. "Yohji-"

Yohji ignored him.

"Yohji, don't go."

"What?"

"Don't go. Stay here tonight. With me."

Yohji froze in the act of reaching for his pants, and looked at Aya over his shoulder. He looked surprised, but pleased. "Really? You mean it?"

Aya couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto his face. "Yes, baka. I mean it."

"You're always so pissed off with me these days. I didn't think-"

Aya tugged him close and kissed him silent. Tried to forget the impossible fact that Yohji was lost, a million miles from him, trapped in his own madness; that as soon as he, Aya, had found something like peace, Yohji had spectacularly fallen apart. Because Yohji felt too good in his arms, kissing him back with all the passion of desperation and fear, for him to resist. And maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

He drew back, and watched Yohji's eyes slide open, lust-haze disguising the usual melancholy guilt.

"Stay?"

Yohji pushed him back on the bed, a grin spreading slowly across his beautiful face.

Aya took that as a yes.

* * * * * * *

There was a knock, and Aya looked up from the books and papers scattered over his desk. "Ken?"

Ken stuck his head around the door. "Hey Aya. Are you busy?"

"No, just finished. What is it?"

Ken edged into the room. "I wanted to ask you something."

Aya took off his reading glasses, and set them on the desk. He stood up and started packing his things into his bag for the following day's lessons, with considerable satisfaction. He liked teaching. He wondered if it might have been the career Ran was destined for, if things had turned out differently.

"Is it about the mission?" he asked.

Ken shook his head, and Aya realised he was looking unusually nervous. He hadn't seen that expression on Ken's face for a long, long time. "It's about Yohji."

Aya's heart sank.

"What about Yohji?"

"Are you and he... are you back together?"

No wonder he looked so nervous.

"Together?"

"Yes, you know, like... before."

"I don't know," said Aya, honestly. "Does it matter?"

"I don't want to see you get hurt." Ken choked out the words as if he ready to start regretting them any moment. "Yohji's a mess, Aya. When I found him before... the girls, and the drugs, and he's still drinking..."

"He completed the mission in Europe."

"He only managed it because of Shell. If she hadn't straightened him out..."

Aya gave a short, bitter little laugh.

"I know you don't want to hear this," Ken continued, "but I don't think we can trust him. The way he just fucked off on a date tonight, leaving you to do his job, directly against Persia's orders..."

"It's not a problem. Yohji's having a hard time. He needs-"

"Fuck what Yohji needs." Ken's voice was hard with anger. "What about you, Aya? All these years you've looked after that stupid sonofabitch while he's done nothing but whore around on you and feel sorry for himself. He hasn't once-"

"That's enough," said Aya, coldly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

He turned to glare at Ken, expecting to see hostility in his eyes. But he didn't. He saw something else, that shocked him to the core.

"Ken... It's-"

"It's none of my business. I know. I... just..." He chewed on his lower lip, either thinking hard or trying to stop himself from saying something, Aya couldn't tell which. "I went through Hell when Omi left. I still I miss him. I know how much it hurts, when someone you love changes... if you need me... to talk, or-"

"Thanks," said Aya quickly. "But there's no need. Whatever it is between me and Yohji... it's between us."

Ken opened his mouth to say something, but Aya silenced him with a look.

Conversation over.

"We should get going," Aya said. "It's getting late."

"Alright," said Ken. Still worried, but the edge worn off his temper.

"I'll meet you downstairs in five minutes."

Ken turned to leave; Aya watched him thoughtfully, until he reached the door, one hand on the polished brass handle. "Ken?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about Omi. And... thanks."

Ken cast him a sad look over his shoulder. With just a trace of a smile.

* * * * * * *

It was less than a week later that Aya found himself waiting for Yohji on the roof of the school, wondering if a hurriedly passed note in the staff lounge was enough to summon him.

It did. And strangely enough, Yohji seemed genuinely pleased to see him.

"Aya," he purred. "Fancy meeting you here."

Aya glared at him.

"You look a little stressed. Ninth grade playing you up? I find telling a few jokes gets them in the mood. Or is that cute little redhead playing hard to get?"

Something in Aya snapped; it wasn't Yohji's flippant tone, or his infantile teasing. It was the pretence, the grinning and playing it cool when Aya could see every inch of his soul laid bare, pain and misery etched into his very core. He pushed Yohji hard against the wall, pressed up against him so close he could almost taste Yohji's skin, and the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and coffee engulfed him. He set about hurting Yohji the best way he knew how. By pretending it was about Weiß.

"Why did you fail to report last night?"

_Why didn't you come home?_

Yohji's eyes hardened. "Yeah, sorry," he said, with forced casualness.

"And the night before that, too."

Yohji caught his gaze, and hurt him right back. "If you can make love on a schedule, you do it. She's waiting in the car. Let's hurry up and finish this."

Aya snorted in disgust, let go of Yohji and took a step back. "Let's hear it."

Yohji started to report, as if it didn't matter. "Tsujii Mayumi. She's been teaching at Koua Academy ever since the school was established. Her file seems to be completely spotless."

"You can't trust paper records."

"Tough to please, aren't we?" Yohji had the audacity to wink; Aya ignored him. "She seems to own a mansion or something near the school campus."

Aya frowned. "That's-"

"Information I obtained from a non-paper source."

Aya choked down jealousy and covered it with cool anger, determined that Yohji shouldn't see his real feelings. He suddenly wanted more than anything for the conversation to be over. "I'll investigate the papers here in the school. Keep in contact with her."

"You're starting to sound like Persia."

Aya forced himself to breathe, fists clenched at his sides. "If you don't like it-"

"Ken's getting irritated. Explain the situation to him, will you? I'll see you around."

Yohji gave an infuriating little wave, and brushed past Aya on his way to the stairs.

"Yohji," said Aya, his voice coming out as little more than a strained whisper. "What about you?"

Yohji stilled for a moment, his eyes closed.

Then he left without a word.

* * * * * * *

If things had been different...

If things had been different, Aya might have given up on Yohji then.

If things had been different, Aya might have fallen in love with Asami, not simply respected her for her dedication and her love of life.

If things had been different, Aya would have been looking for Asami, not Yohji.

If things had been different, Asami would still be alive.

* * * * * * *

He found Yohji in the Art Room, in the end, and he could see in those deep green eyes that he already knew about Tsujii.

They went up to the roof and Yohji headed straight for the edge; for a moment Aya thought he would leap off. But he didn't. Just lit a cigarette and leaned over the railing, looking out at the sunset.

"What happened?" Aya said.

"What do you mean?" Yohji kept his back to him, and Aya kept his distance.

"Is it something you can't even tell us?"

He couldn't be certain Yohji had heard him. There was a brief pause, before he spoke. "Hey, Aya. Have you ever wanted to erase your past?"

A cold chill ran down Aya's spine. "No-one can do such a thing."

Finally, Yohji turned, leaning back against the railing, his eyes cast down, examining the roof. "Have you ever wanted to, though?"

"No. I never have."

Yohji gave a cold, humourless laugh. "Thought so. You're the strong one, after all."

"We must all carry the weight of our memories as we live on," Aya said. "We are Weiß. What happened between you and Tsujii?"

Finally, Yohji looked up, and met his gaze for an instant. Then Yohji's eyelids lowered, his expression closed, secretive. "Not much," he said, his mouth twisting into an ironic smirk.

"Yohji!"

And then Yohji was walking towards him -- no, not towards him. Past him. Leaving.

"I said nothing. Don't worry, I'll complete the mission. So leave me alone."

Aya stayed perfectly still, an evening breeze ruffling his hair, and listened to Yohji's footsteps as they faded into the distance.

* * * * * * *

Aya heard Asami screaming, and knew it was too late.

He saw Tsujii in the midst of carnage, and a bitter rage leapt like bile into his throat, the like of which he hadn't tasted since Takatori.

She'd taken Kyo, and Asami. And Yohji.

Asami gave him what Weiß needed with her last breath, and died in his arms.

Another ghost.

Aya wept.


	13. 8: Choice

All of Yohji's lovers ended up dead.

Except Aya.

Until now.

The wire sang.

* * * * * * *

Aya sat in the briefing room and stared at Asami's journal. The last treasure of her life. The room was thick with silence; Yohji leaning in Aya's old place against the wall, Sena waiting patiently on the sofa, Ken's impatience palpable and growing by the minute.

Rex stood by the blank plasma screen. No Persia.

"Fuck it, we've been here since this morning." Ken's impatience had clearly got the better of him. "When is something going to happen?"

"Persia will talk to us in a moment," said Rex, calmly. "Please wait."

"I've been fucking waiting," said Ken. "Another person who didn't need to die has died." He ignored Rex's protest, rising to his feet as if he were about to leave. "It's about time we knew what was going on around here. If you guys ever figure out what to do, call me. Until then, I'm out of here."

The door behind him opened.

It was Omi.

He'd changed, in the years since Aya last saw him in person. A little taller, more serious. Calmer, maybe.

"Sit down, Siberian," said Omi, with a tone of command that the old Omi would never have used, especially on Ken.

"To see you here, face to face - I'm disappointed in you, Persia." Ken's voice was sardonic, but there was a hint of a smile for Omi on his lips.

Yohji's eyes darted once to Omi, before settling back on the wall opposite.

There was a moment of silence, before Omi began.

"I've chosen not to live as Omi Tsukiyono, but as Mamorou Takatori."

Aya remembered an abandoned apartment, a night not unlike this, and Omi's huge eyes looking up at him as Aya cut him free. _You are not Mamorou Takatori. You are- _

Aya focused on Asami's journal, and kept himself perfectly still.

"I walk a different path from the rest of you," Omi was saying. "For the rest of our lives, we will never meet again. Pain and mourning... I walk that path alone."

_Oh, really, Omi?_

"For this... to kill Omi Tsukiyono within me, I announce a mission!"

A Takatori, after all.

"This isn't an official mission from Persia. It's from a weak, crybaby flower-seller who can't do anything by himself. Omi Tsukiyono's final mission. If that's okay, then listen to me. If it's not, then leave now. As long as I live I will never let the Takatori family come after you. I promise."

Aya waited. He half expected Yohji to leave. But he didn't. Neither did Sena.

Omi's eyes locked with Ken's.

"Hey, I don't want to be the only bad guy here," said Ken with a shrug.

A smile lit Omi's face briefly. "Thank you. My final mission is the destruction of Eszett's artificial human production system, the palace of Sheol, and the elimination of Masato Shimojima and Mayumi Tsujii! White Hunters of Darkness... expose these dark creatures!"

Aya got to his feet. He'd made his decision, long ago. He couldn't be Ran again. But he could make the world better. He could carry his grief on strong shoulders, and cling to the shreds of hope he had for some kind of a future. This was his place.

Sena rose to his feet too, and then Ken threw an arm around Omi's shoulder, and Omi's true smile showed, and for a moment, it felt familiar.

Yohji stood against the wall, unmoving.

* * * * * * *

Aya's fingers deftly tied his freshly braided hair as he looked around his room, knowing that it might be for the last time. There had been one mission too many that he hadn't been able to come home from for him expect otherwise. It didn't matter; there was nothing here. A few books, the trappings of his life as teacher. He'd miss those, a little. But not enough.

And on his bed, one corner stained with blood, Asami's journal.

A familiar voice cut through his thoughts.

"Your hair's beautiful like that. You know, I wish I hadn't cut mine, when I see yours..."

Yohji lounged in the doorway, a half consumed bottle of wine in one hand, wearing only his jeans, and that ridiculous cowboy hat perched on the back of his head.

"Mind if I come in?"

"If you like."

Yohji slunk into the room, and waved the bottle. "Got glasses?"

"Not before a mission, Yohji."

Yohji flinched at the tone of Aya's voice; he shrugged and set the bottle down on the desk. "You're no fun."

"Yohji-"

"It's just a distraction, you know. It improves my focus."

Aya doubted that, very much.

Yohji sighed, his old, long-suffering sigh, but his face was dark. "Give me a reason, Aya."

"What?"

"Tell me why I should do as Persia says. Come on, you're doing the bidding of a fucking Takatori, you must have thought it through. Why?"

"I can't answer that for you. You have to work it out for yourself, Yohji. You heard what Omi said. If you want to get out, this is your chance."

Yohji gave a bitter little laugh. "Only, I don't do so well without Weiss, do I? Botan or Ken or someone always has to come rescue me from some mess of my own making."

"Yohji-"

"Aya."

They looked at one another.

"You should be getting ready."

"I'm tired, Aya. Every day hurts just a little bit more than the one before. Every kill gets harder. The only thing that... the only..."

"Don't," said Aya, barely a murmur. "Yohji..."

Then Yohji was crossing the room, his gaze fixed on Aya as if he were walking a tightrope. As soon as he was within reach he fell into Aya's arms; their lips met, warm and soft, and tongues, and tears, and Aya fell back on the bed, fingers stroking brittle blond hair, dispensing comfort.

Maybe this way, he could save Yohji. He knew there was nothing he could say. He had only a thin understanding of what was going on in Yohji's head. But maybe this way...

He bucked his hips upwards, grinding his stiffening sex against Yohji's, making them both groan. Fire grew in his belly and Aya ceased to think, his passion so intense that already he'd forgotten why he was doing this. There was a tangling of tongues and fumbling of buttons, a scramble to the nightstand for condom and lube, and not soon enough, Yohji was sitting astride him, slathering them wet with shaking hands before he sank down on Aya's cock. So fast it must have hurt, but Yohji didn't flinch. Just took Aya inside and held him there, surrounded him with tight, slick heat. Aya looked up and swallowed hard at the beauty of Yohji's face: eyes closed, lips damp and slightly parted, neck arched gracefully backwards.

Aya swiped his tongue over his own dry lips, and told himself he'd remember that face forever. Stored it away in the catalogue of memories that would soon be all he had.

No. He wouldn't let it happen. He had to reach Yohji, somehow.

Yohji began to move, and Aya let him. Forced his own body still, rested his hands on Yohji's bony hips and watched him fuck. Cock leaking, muscles flexing, eyes squinching shut with painful pleasure. Chest heaving, panting, moaning softly.

Wet white arced to paint Aya's chest, and Aya's body shuddered its completion in response. Release, relief; shared pleasure.

Not enough.

Yohji hunched over him, his shoulders shaking. Tears splashed down to mix with cooling semen.

"Yohji..." Aya held his ravaged body close, and kissed his hair.

"I... can't..." Yohji's tear-stained face nuzzled into Aya's neck with a little sob. "If it hadn't been for Asuka... if... you and..."

Aya's eyes slid shut; he swallowed hard.

"Don't..."

"...but.. could we, Aya? Could we... ever..."

Not a serious question, more a wistful thought. But Aya answered it anyway.

"She's still there, isn't she?"

Yohji froze.

"You see?" Aya's hand fell from Yohji's close-cropped hair. "I can't exist alongside all those guilty memories, Yohji. There isn't room."

As simple as that then, in the end.

Yohji pulled away, and Aya let him go. Watched him fumble for his jeans and pull them on, watched as he rubbed the back of a hand over his eyes, and sniffed. Cleared his throat.

"I'll see you downstairs, then."

Aya nodded.

Aya watched him leave.

He got up from the bed, cleaned himself and dressed in mission clothes. He crossed to the mirror, katana in his hand, and looked at his reflection for a long time.

Aya raised his sword, and sliced, and his hair fell as a rope across the diary that still lay on his bed.

He left them both behind.

* * * * * * *

Aya led them to the Palace of Sheol and the massacre they knew was waiting for them. Omi's presence nagged at him, too familiar, too much missed. Ken was hyper, on the edge of bloodlust, nervy as hell. Sena carried himself with a bitter calm and determination that belied his years. And Yohji... Yohji was hardly there at all. He wouldn't look Aya in the eye; his steps faltered here and there. When they fought he was slow, and Aya had to save his ass more than once; he noticed Ken covering for him too.

Hardly like old times, then.

This time, when the last enemy pointed a gun at Aya's head, it wasn't Yohji who saved him.

It was Nagi.

Nagi. And Omi called him Nagi-kun, as if he were a friend.

It wasn't right. Ken wasn't too sure about that, either. But it didn't rattle him, and Omi seemed sure, and Aya couldn't deny that he owed him his life, so he let it go. He watched Ken turn towards the mouth of this particular part of Eszett's hell with Sena in tow, and caught sight of Yohji out of the corner of his eye.

"Is everybody okay?" Aya said, absolutely certain that they weren't.

"Yes," said Yohji. From far, far away.

"Let's go." He turned to go, took two steps before he heard the wire. He didn't try to dodge.

Aya stood perfectly still, with Yohji's metal cord around his throat, and forced himself to breathe.

"What are you doing?" His voice sounded calm, controlled, as if it belonged to someone else. He heard Omi gasp.

"Don't move." The wire creaked as Yohji tightened it. A warning. "I can't let you go on. Listen to me."

Omi's voice piped up with innocent alarm. "What's wrong with you, Yohji-kun? Aya-"

Don't sound so surprised, Takatori. You made him this way. You. Did. This.

Aya forced himself to stand still. "You understand, if we fight, it won't be a tie," he told Yohji. "You or me. One of us will die."

Can you kill me, Yohji?

"Hey, come on!" Ken's voice, soothing. "You're just tired, Right Yohji? Coming back from Europe must have been hard. Y'know, when all this is all over, we could take a break and-"

The wire tightened again. Slicing into his flesh now, enough to leave a mark. No blood. Yet.

"He's serious?!" Ken sounded genuinely alarmed. As if he'd expected this to be a joke.

None of them understood Yohji. Not like he did.

"I want a new life," came Yohji's voice. "I'll leave Weiß, forget everything, and become a new person. I will be reborn."

"With Eszett's cursed power?" Aya fought to keep his voice level, and his head perfectly still.

"There's no greater curse than the one I'm suffering right now."

Asuka's curse? Or the one that brings you crawling back to my bed when the pain gets too much to bear?

Anger and bitterness tightened Aya's chest. For all those nights they'd held each other in the dark; at the thought that Yohji would so easily give them up, as if he'd never bothered to care. "And you think you can run away? If you screw with your head and forget everything, you think that's the end of it? You'll be happy lying to yourself?"

"What's wrong with it?" The pitch of Yohji's voice rose, the sound of it tearing at Aya's heart. The pain so raw and exposed, as tangible as the shake of Yohji's hand vibrating down the wire. "Are you telling me that it's wrong to deceive yourself? Tell me, Aya, why do we have to continue this misery? I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore! I don't want to fight! I don't want to kill. I don't want to betray or be betrayed! I don't want to suffer any more! I can't-"

Aya struggled to keep still, feeling black and empty inside.

Omi filled the silence with a whisper. "Yohji-kun..." He almost sounded guilty.

"Is this where you want to be?" Yohji yelled. "Is this what you wanted to become? Answer me! Say something, Aya! Aya!"

Aya turned to face him, the wire so tight he dared not breathe. He raised his sword.

"So," said Yohji, his voice softer but no less desperate. "It comes to this."

Aya struggled for breath and searched Yohji's eyes for the truth, and all at once they shared a moment far stronger, more intimate, more binding even than the wire. It took this one, glorious, terrible moment for them to confess it, but standing there in the dark, bound by death and promise, they finally shared the truth.

And it wasn't enough.


	14. Interlude: Meditation 4

He couldn't take his eyes off the sword.

Aya tried to concentrate on the willing body underneath him, the strong thighs that gripped him round the waist, the soft lips caressing his, but he couldn't stop himself. His eyes refused to stay shut or to focus on anything but the katana resting in its cradle on the dresser.

"Aya..."

The voice pulled him back, for a moment, for long enough to reassure. He gave Ken a smile, and brushed his dark, sweat-damp hair back from his face.

"Good?" he asked, grinding deeper.

Ken nodded and grinned, cheeks dimpling. "Very."

Aya licked Ken's ear the way he liked it, and moved slowly inside him, forcing his own attention to the sweet friction of Ken's ass around his cock. He leaned down to kiss him, a tangle of slick tongues, soft lips. Ken groaned in pleasure, and when Aya pulled back, he smiled again.

Then Ken's eyes slid shut and his hips rose to meet Aya's thrusts, and Aya bit his lower lip with the pleasure of it.

And found himself gazing once again at the sword.

Another of Yohji's broken promises.

Aya had played that last hour in the Palace of Sheol over and over in his head for almost a year. Most nights in his dreams he held Sena's body in his arms as the life bled out of it; he saw Yohji reborn and free, not as Eszett's puppet but as himself; he relived the triumph of Yohji splitting Tsujii in two with the sword.

For the first six months he had woken from those dreams alone and shaking, Yohji's promise ringing in his ears.

"Wherever you are, I'll find you, Aya."

The night that he heard what had happened to Yohji he'd woken screaming, to find Ken by his side. Still half asleep, Aya hadn't protested when his friend had put strong arms around him for comfort. Hadn't stopped the kisses or the rub of skin on skin.

It was better this way, after all. Yohji had the new life he'd wanted so badly. A new Asuka. No killing, and if there was betrayal, he didn't know it. Better this way.

Ken felt good and tight and safe underneath him, not how Aya had imagined he might be. None of the beserker spirit here, but rather the trusting boy that Kase might have known, and who Omi should have loved. Ken had been good to him.

Aya knelt up, hitching Ken's legs onto his shoulders so he could strike deeper. He ran his fingers over the shiny smooth scar above one hip. The scar that he had put there, a testament to reckless bravery. The kind that Ken showed all the time. The thought of that courage was enough, for a moment, to make the sword go away and for Aya to drag his attention back to the man he was fucking. The lean, strong body and the gentle brown eyes and the quirky smile that begged to be returned. Aya turned to brush his lips against Ken's knee, then let himself be tugged down and kissed.

Ken's eyes slid shut again, the flush across his cheeks deepening as he slipped closer towards orgasm. Aya reached between them to take Ken's cock in his hand and stroke it as he fucked.

Like moth to flame, Aya's eyes were drawn back to sword and broken promise.

Ken cried out as he came, wet and warm in Aya's hand, and Aya let himself fuck harder, faster, finally emptying himself into Ken's body with a cry that tore at his throat. His body took its pleasure while his heart screamed pain, and he glared at the thing that shouldn't be here, that was lost and better lost and hoped for than here and now and real and... and...

Aya wrenched his gaze away and back to find Ken watching him. Not smiling.

"It's okay," Ken whispered. "I know. I understand."

Aya stilled.

"I know you still love him." Fingers were combing through Aya's hair, a thumb rubbing gently across his jaw, soothing.

Aya ran dry tongue over dry lips, and blinked. A tiny part of him wanted to cry. To give himself up to Ken's affection and scream: yes, yes, I love him, I always loved him, like you loved Omi, and now all we have is each other, and it's good and fine and better than alone, but it's not enough.

It's never enough.

"I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile. "It holds memories, is all."

Ken looked up at him, eyes wide and big and understanding, and nodded.

"I know," he said. "I know."


	15. Interlude: Counterpoint 3

He slipped out of bed, and reached for the green silk robe that waited for him, folded neatly on the back of the chair nearby. He slid his arms into the sleeves, slow and silent. He carefully opened the drawer in the nightstand, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He took them out onto the balcony, taking care to close the big windows behind him.

He lit his first cigarette of the day, pulled smoke deep into his lungs, then let it out with a deep sigh.

She knew he smoked, of course. She'd told him, when he woke, he had the lungs of a smoker. It had shown in the x-rays, apparently. A heavy drinker, too, she'd said, reproachfully, and even drugs. There were still tiny marks in the crook of his left arm. He needed help.

That was one of the things she liked about him, he supposed. Asuka loved to care for things. Wounded animals, kids, and of course her patients. She collected strays. And he, he supposed, was one of them.

She knew he smoked. She hated it. So they played this little game, where he did it when she wasn't looking, and she pretended not to know.

It didn't stop her worrying, though.

He hated to make her worry. She'd been pleased to see the sword go. He had a suspicion she'd half expected him to fall on it some day. Because she knew he found it hard. She saw the sadness in his eyes, the loss, and she worried.

It was getting easier. Every day, a little easier. When the first glow had worn off some, they had settled into a comfortable, companionable life together. Warm.

It felt alien, at first. But it got better. He needed love and comfort, and she needed someone to care for.

There were worst things to base a marriage on, after all.

He missed the sword. It had given their little apartment a sense of danger, an exotic link to a different, dangerous world. The place seemed tame without it.

It would be time to go to work soon. To put on the suit and put his charm to good use. Selling things. He was good at selling things.

The sun was up, a morning breeze puffed his cigarette smoke away into the distance, leaving the air clean and fresh.

He tossed his cigarette stub over the balcony, and took a deep breath.

A new day.


	16. 9: Truth

Aya tucked his travel documents into the sidepocket of his bag, and pulled out a book. A satisfyingly thick volume on English history - a new passion - that should keep him occupied for most of the flight from London to Sendai. He waited until the plane was safely airbourne before he opened it, and had read three pages before he found Ken's note. A simple 'be happy' in Ken's usual untidy scrawl, and on the other side, a Tokyo address.

There was no-one quite as stubborn as Hidaka Ken.

Aya tucked the note away at the back of his book, and continued to read.

* * * * * * *

It was a relatively straightforward mission. He was to take the data to Kryptonbrand's contact in Sendai, receive the exchange package a few days later and then return to London. The delay made Aya uneasy, but those were his orders. He'd also been told that his contact had considerable power and influence. More, Aya guessed, than Kryptonbrand themselves.

It had been over a year since Aya had left Japan, and it wasn't long enough. It wasn't that he'd managed to forget while he was in England, but it was easier to bear without the constant landmarks of his former life. Even here in Sendai: just around the corner were houses that he had worked to build, that summer when Weiß had parted company; the hospital from which Aya-chan was kidnapped; the apartment block up the coast a little way in Matsushima Bay, where he had left Kasuki and a different, almost-happy life.

And Tokyo, so close he could taste the air and smell the summer rain.

Sendai was busy with tourists who'd flocked there for the Star Festival. An easy place to meet strangers in the dark. He turned up dutifully in the designated car park, and waited.

No-one came.

The scheduled time came and went, and it was three hours later, when Aya was about to leave, that he was approached by a man who wore an ill-fitting suit which gave away the shape of a gun underneath the polyester. He stank of whiskey and smoke, and other things Aya didn't want to recognise.

But he knew the passwords, and that's all Aya cared about. He handed over the package and turned to leave.

"You'll hear from us in five days. If this isn't what you say it is-"

"I understand."

"Do you?" said the contact, with a mocking laugh. "How interesting."

Aya span around, his senses screaming danger at him.

But the man was already gone.

Aya didn't mention any of this to Ken when they spoke the following morning. He wasn't even sure what there was to mention; as true as Aya's instincts usually were, there wasn't anything here that was really off on the larger scale of things. He resolved to watch his back and bide his time, and instead listened patiently to Ken's kick-by-kick account of the football match he'd been to see the night before, until Ken asked the inevitable question.

"So, are you going to Tokyo?"

At which point, Aya lied.

* * * * * * *

The Koneko hadn't changed at all.

She'd cut her hair. Not too short, just to shoulder length. It made her seem older, although the face Aya got a precious glimpse of still looked very young. She smiled and laughed with her customers, and with the tall young man who helped her.

A painful, miserable reassurance that she was better off with out him. Just like Kazuki, whom he'd seen last night, from a distance, walking on the beach with a good looking man who held him proudly by the hand.

This was how it had to be, to keep them safe.

The night before he'd dreamed of Yohji.

In the dream he was waiting outside Yohji's house; and it felt like he'd waited forever. Finally he recognised a lanky form striding towards him, briefcase in one hand, raincoat folded neatly over the other arm. The sun was shining brightly behind him, casting him in silhouette, but Aya knew.

He looked again at the place where Yohji lived, watched as she came out to meet him, all smiles and love and open arms.

Aya knew that in a moment's time they would meet and hug and touch, and he knew he couldn't stand it. He twisted the key in the ignition with shaking fingers, and before the man who looked like Yohji had stepped out of the shadow of the sun, he was gone.

Aya woke in a cold sweat, choking for breath.

He hadn't slept since then.

* * * * * * *

The brass plate on the door to the office bore the name 'Surefire Solutions', one of those pointless company names that could mean anything. Or nothing. Aya was ushered into a waiting area equipped with long, low couches and a backlit fishtank, where he sat for fifteen minutes until a door opposite the one he'd entered swung open, and a tall, slender woman emerged. She ushered Aya down a short corridor, past a water cooler and a few closed offices to a huge pair of double doors at the end. She swung them open with the confidence of someone who'd done so many times before, and Aya followed her inside.

And there, at the far side of the office, sitting behind a huge teak desk, was Omi.

Takatori.

"Aya-kun."

Aya gave the slightest of bows in greeting; none of Omi's names felt right.

He was older, his hair a little longer, brushing his shoulders at the back. His eyes had taken on a glint of steel, or perhaps it just showed more than it used to.

"How are you?" said Omi warmly.

"Fine, thanks."

"And Ken-kun?"

"He's fine. He doesn't know I'm here. Why did you want to see me?"

"Do I have to have a reason?" said Omi softly.

"Yes," said Aya. "Because it's dangerous. And isn't there an election around the corner?"

"There's always an election." There was scant enthusiasm in Omi's voice.

"So?"

"I need your help."

Of course.

"What do you need?"

"I want to give you a mission."

"I'm not Weiß any more."

"I know. But you're the only one I can trust with this. I wouldn't ask you if I had a choice. You can decline, if you wish."

After all they'd been through together and despite the path that Omi had chosen, Aya knew what his answer would be.

"He's a scientist who used to work for Eszett." Omi pulled an accordion envelope out of his desk drawer and passed it to Aya. "The information's in there. He's living just up the coast from Sendai. He committed many atrocities in the past; he was one of those who conducted experiments on your sister. We have intelligence to prove that he's started operating again: a number of people have gone missing, all of whom have special talents of one kind or another. It would seem that after he's got whatever he needs from them he gives them a lethal injection and dumps their bodies. He's been out of town for a week; my sources say he should arrive back in two days time."

"You're an influential man now," said Aya. "Couldn't you have him dealt with by the authorities?"

"Too dangerous. Besides, there's nothing to go on, not enough hard evidence to convict him. He still has contacts with Eszett, and you know what their lawyers are like. I want this dark beast gone, Aya. Before he takes another life."

They regarded each other for a long moment, then Aya nodded. He tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his coat. "I'll report back when it's done."

"No," said Omi. "I wouldn't ask you to do this alone. I'll be joining you."

"That's a huge risk," said Aya.

Omi gave him a shadow of his old smile. "It wouldn't be the first time I'd taken one of those, would it?"

"I suppose not." Aya got up to leave.

"Aya-kun?"

Omi looked up at Aya with big sad eyes that, while not exactly full of tears, were still the same ones that had watched too many people he loved die.

"Yes?"

"Is Ken-kun happy?"

Aya's throat felt tight; he swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice steady.

"He's okay," he said.

Omi looked down at his desk. "Good," he all but whispered. "Good."

* * * * * * *

Aya sat in the car and read the papers Omi had given him. To say the research had been thorough would be an understatement. Unlike so many of Weiß's missions in the past, he had everthing he needed to know right there in one manilla envelope: names, false names, addresses, habits, even that the target was right handed and had poor sight in one eye as the result of an accident. Aya wondered fleetingly how Kritiker could know so much.

He could have left Tokyo forever then; gone back to his hotel and planned the mission, talked to Ken. But instead he found himself walking the streets for hours. The afternoon light was fading by the time he reached the diner for the third time. This time his tiredness got the better of him, and he went inside. He ordered coffee and food that he probably wouldn't eat, and sat well away from the window.

As soon as the door opened, he knew.

And then he was somehow on his feet, throat tight and chest hurting, and Yohji saw him and registered surprise.

Yohji's lips moved to mouth a single word.

"Aya?"

Aya's heart thudded in his chest; all he could do was stare.

His name, the name Yohji had given him, the name he'd kept for all these years: not because of what he'd become, or what he fought for, or even because Ran was so far away. The name he'd kept because it was all Yohji had left him with.

He watched the panic of discovery cross Yohji's face. Saw him struggle for a moment, think of leaving, even, but he couldn't, any more than Aya could. Instead Yohji crossed the sterile tiled floor in five long strides, and touched him. Slight and brief, bare fingertips to Aya's hair and jaw, but Aya had to close his eyes to keep from sobbing.

"Aya. I can't believe it's you. Shit. Oh, God. Aya."

Aya bit down hard on his lower lip, and dared to look. Yohji was still there, his eyes huge and green. His hair was dark, Aya realised, and long again, and he wore a suit, immaculate with the crispest, whitest shirt that Aya had ever seen.

"You..."

You remembered. You're here. You're mine.

No. Not mine.

The waitress's voice cut through Aya's confusion like a stream of light through fog. "Hey, gorgeous! The usual?"

"Just a coffee, beautiful," Aya heard Yohji say, in that light, flirting tone he reserved for customers and girls he'd never sleep with.

But he didn't take his eyes of Aya all the while, and they stood there, frozen as surely as they'd been by Yohji's wire, a year ago.

"I thought..." Aya struggled with words; hardly able to believe this was happening.

"What are you doing here?" whispered Yohji.

A man squeezed past them with a martyred sigh; they were blocking the aisle between the rows of tables. Aya slid back into his seat, and Yohji sat opposite him.

"I came to see Omi," Aya said. "It's a long story,but... Yohji, you... when did you get your memory back?"

"Ken said you were out of the country for good." Yohji took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. His hands were shaking.

"It's the first time. How-"

They were interrupted by the waitress, who set Yohji's coffee down in front of him. Yohji smiled at her with his usual charm, and got a giggle in return. He flicked ash into the metal ashtray, and Aya's eyes were drawn to his hand. The long, clever fingers that he knew so well, and on one of them, a ring. A thick gold band.

"You were... you're married," he said, flatly. Suddenly believing it.

"Yeah," said Yohji, softly. "And you? You and Ken still together?"

"What?"

"He was wearing your sweater, when he came to see me that time." Yohji smirked, but there was something else in his eyes that he hid behind a cloud of smoke. "I put two and two together. Once a detective..."

"Yohji..." Aya felt anger and hurt welling in his chest, but he was too shocked to know what to do with any of it. "They said you'd lost your memory. That you'd never get it back. Ken said you didn't recognise him, and the sword..."

The sword. Ken said you seemed happy. You sent back the sword.

Things started to fall into place.

Aya stumbled to his feet, stopped only by Yohji's hand upon his arm.

"Aya, it's not what you think. I couldn't let them know... It was for the best."

Aya forced himself to breathe. It didn't make a difference, after all, whether Yohji had made this choice with or without his memory. The choice had been made, either way, and Aya had made his. That's why Ken had been in his bed for a while, why Ken had worn his sweaters and worried about him.

"We split up," he said. "A couple of months back. It wasn't good for the team."

Yohji snorted. "That should go in the book of cliches, right up there with 'maybe we should see other people' and 'but I don't want to lose you as a friend'.

"And 'I'm sorry but I'm married'?"

Yohji winced.

"Whatever happened, it's between me and Ken," said Aya. "And nothing to do with you."

"I was only asking," said Yohji, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world for them to be catching up on each other's lives like this. As if they hadn't been to hell and back together. As if there had been no promise.

"This is pointless." He got up again, stronger now, and threw money on the table to pay for his untouched drink. Ignoring Yohji's efforts to stop him this time, he stormed out onto the street, and hesitated there for the barest moment. Which to do? Drive back tonight? Or find somwhere to escape into a bottle of something? He'd taken a single step towards a bar he hoped was still there, before Yohji came running out of the diner and stopped him.

"Aya! Please, don't leave like this. We need to talk. We need to... to..."

Aya glared at him, his whole body trembling with rage. "What's left to say, Yohji? What the fuck to we have to-"

His eyes were huge, and green, and it was all still there. All of it. Still there.

Aya froze.

And then Yohji was kissing him, hard and urgent, gripping Aya's shoulders so tight it hurt, and Aya twisted his hand in Yohji's hair and held him there. Kissed him back and took control, because why the fuck did Yohji think he had a right to do this?

Why had Yohji suddenly sprung back into his life? Only Yohji could make him feel this way, make his guts flip over and his spine tingle and steal his reason. This was definitely Yohji, not an echo or a twisted memory or a dream. Not an empty shell who didn't remember his own name. This was Yohji, wanting, needing, screwed up Yohji, and oh, fuck but he was beautiful, and he tasted so good, and his body was lean and hot and hard, and all Aya wanted was to-

"There's a hotel, not far from here," Yohji panted, and Aya felt the words as puffs of air against his lips. "Just once, Aya, please, and then I promise I'll-"

Aya silenced him with another kiss, tongue plunging deep this time, and when it ended Yohji whimpered.

He followed Yohji two blocks to the place he'd mentioned. Trying to think. Trying not to think. Not able to think. He let Yohji take control, picking the room, paying for it. Aya's uneasiness grew. What in the name of hell was he doing? What was Yohji doing? He was married, for fuck's sake, and oh, but Aya didn't care. It was dangerous and stupid and wrong, but he couldn't stop. He followed Yohji up two flights of stairs at a run, stopped at their allotted door, picked up the keycard when Yohji dropped it and slid it quickly through the slot. The door clicked and swung open, and Yohji tugged him inside, pressed him against the wall by the door and kissed him again.

Yohji's kiss was hungry; the long-missed taste of cigarettes and coffee; the clever tongue that knew just how to drive him wild, teasing and darting, comforting nipped lips, invading, plunging, stealing breath.

Yohji tugged Aya's coat open and pushed it roughly off his shoulders; Aya fumbled with Yohji's tie - for some reason it occurred to him that he'd never taken a tie off another man before - and shirt buttons. They left a trail of clothes from the door to the bed, shoes and socks and coat and tie and Aya's t-shirt, and jeans and trousers were undone and Yohji was falling back on the bed, pulling Aya with him.

"Oh God, Aya... I never thought I'd see you again. Oh God..."

"We could just talk," said Aya, as if he meant it. "We don't have to-"

"Yes," panted Yohji, between urgent kisses to Aya's neck. "We do have to. We really, really do."

He clamped his mouth over Aya's throat and sucked; soothing the burgeoning bruise with his tongue even as he made it. One shaking hand worked its way into Aya's jeans and briefs and touched his cock; quickly first, as if afraid it would bite. Then a longer stroke, fingertips, then knuckles, then fevered palm, firm clasp, and Yohji shivered head to foot, and moaned.

"So beautiful," he murmured, lips brushing the mark he'd left on Aya's flesh. "You feel so good."

Aya followed Yohji's lead; gave up a half-hearted fight with Yohji's shirt buttons and tugged his pants open instead. Yohji's dick leapt into his hand, twitched at every touch, every squeeze. Aya found Yohji's mouth and they kissed again, long, open mouthed, delicious slip of tongue on tongue; he could have come like that, they both could, and it would have been better than good, but not enough. This was the last time, and Aya wanted it to be everything, not just release or comfort in the dark. It had to be everything.

"Get these off," he tugged impatiently at Yohji's pants. "Naked, I want you naked."

"Sure," said Yohji, smirking. "But you'll have to let go of my dick first."

Aya looked down, as if he'd forgotten that his hand was welded to Yohji's willing flesh. "Okay, but hurry."

"You too." And Yohji started another long, deep, hungry kiss.

Eventually he pulled away, for long enough to shed his clothes, and laugh at Aya when he got his jeans stuck on one foot and swore. And then they lay there on the bed, naked and bare, and Yohji was so, so beautiful. His body all lean muscle and golden skin; hip bones that begged for Aya to pin them to the bed; long limbs he wanted wrapped around him. His jaw, his hair, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, all perfect, and, for now, for Aya. Just for now.

He spread Yohji's legs and knelt between them, traced a line from the tip of his leaking cock to his balls and beyond, found the tiny knot of muscle, soft, soft skin, and stroked. Licked his finger, and stroked some more.

"We need..." he struggled to find words, his brain a mess of lust. "Yohji, do you-"

Yohji blinked at him. No, of course he didn't. He was married. What would a respectably married man be doing carrying condoms and lube around with him? Fuck.

"The dish," said Yohji.

Aya followed his pointing finger to the bowl of condoms on the low table by the bed. Of course. It was that kind of hotel. Of course.

He picked one out, but his hands were trembling and he couldn't get it open... Yohji kissed him, took it from him and next he knew he was sliding over Aya's twitching cock.

He couldn't stop shaking. Yohji raised his legs gracefully, balanced them on Aya's shoulders, and Aya gripped his aching erection by the root, put it in place, the tip nestling perfectly in the dimple of Yohji's ass. He pushed, slipped in a little, and Yohji grunted.

He looked down at Yohji's face; cheekbones flushed pink, eyes big and dark with lust. He was chewing on his lower lip, rocking his hips up to impale himself on Aya's cock, even though it must be hurting, he was so tight.

"Steady, Yohji. Take it easy." He stroked Yohji's hair back from his face, rubbed his thumb along his jawbone.

"I want you so fucking much," said Yohji.

Aya's heart pounded, he let out a single sob. "I love you."

And even as he said it, Yohji's body gave way, letting Aya slide in, and in, and in, all the way. He heard himself cry out.

"Oh God," breathed Yohji. "Aya..."

His legs slid down, threading between Aya's arms and body to wrap around his back. Strong and supple as ever. Aya started to move, and as he slid in and out of Yohji's body time slipped away. As if the last few years simply hadn't happened, and they were back in the Koneko on a Sunday afternoon, before Neu, when Yohji's fears were dormant and Aya's revenge hadn't yet consumed him; when they could fool themselves that this was just for comfort, when the rock and slide of bodies made it better. Aya's face was wet with tears, Yohji's fingers wound tightly in his hair; and he poured out everything he'd kept locked inside, the grief and pain and hope, and he couldn't even wait for Yohji to come, he had no control at all. Yohji held and stroked and kissed him, and Aya surged helplessly inside him, his body spasmed and he thought he must have screamed, and it didn't matter, nothing mattered, nothing... he yelled again as Yohji's ass clenched tight and his cock spurted sticky wet between their bodies.

They stopped rocking, slowly, and Aya slumped, not thinking, rested his forehead on Yohji's, panting. Crimson, sweat-damp hair falling over Yohji's face.

Eventually he opened his eyes to see Yohji wince as he lowered his legs. Aya disentangled himself, carefully; it was bound to sting, after all, but Yohji didn't seem to mind too much, tugging Aya close. Too exhausted to protest, Aya let him, and he must have fallen asleep for a few moments, because the next thing he knew, Yohji was clicking off his phone and tossing it to the floor.

The real world flooded back. They weren't in the Koneko. They were in a love hotel, a place for furtive liaisons and hopeless dreams. The Koneko they'd known was long gone. Everything was gone.

"I meant it for the best," said Yohji softly. "I was going to come and find you but... when I remembered..."

"When?"

"In the hospital, not long after I woke up, it came back in bits and pieces. At first all I remembered was you, and the killing, so I kept quiet until it all made sense. By then... I had a lot of time to think. I thought what it would be like, what the future held for all of us. I thought that you'd be better off without me. That you deserved better. I knew Ken wanted you. It made some kind of sense."

"That was for me to decide."

"You never came to the hospital. I thought-"

"They wouldn't let us," said Aya. "Kritiker. Omi kept us all apart for months. He put Ken in jail. I went to the States."

"For the election campaign?"

"Among other things. It made sense, at the time." He kissed Yohji's shoulder, nuzzled his hair, breathing in the scent of him so he'd remember.

"I guess Kenken took that badly."

"Yes, at first."

"And you made it better."

"It wasn't like that. It was..." Unconsciously, Aya's hand went to his belly, and Yohji's fingers fingers followed, stroking over the smooth, glossy skin that marked the spot where Aya's life had almost bled out of him.

"Who did this?"

"It's not important."

Yohji sighed, and stretched down to kiss the scar. "I missed you."

Aya kept his eyes tight shut. Didn't trust himself to speak.

"Aya..."

"We can't do this," Aya said. "We can't."

"It's a bit late for that, Aya," said Yohji with a wry grin, lying back again. "I think we already did."

"No, I mean..."

"So what's life like in England?"

"Not so different. Not as different as yours."

"Hmm."

"Do you love her?"

He watched Yohji's face, knowing too well that the truth lay in his eyes, even when he lied with his mouth.

"No," he whispered. "Not like this."

Aya hardly dared to breathe. His mind flooded with possibilities for a moment before he shoved down hope and forced himself to think. No.

"But she loves you."

"Yes."

"Just now, the phone... you called her?"

"She worries. I told her I'd be working late. She's on the night shift herself, she won't know any different." He shifted fully onto his side, propped his head up on one elbow. "Can you stay? Just for tonight?"

Aya nodded. "Just tonight," he forced himself to say.

Then he pulled Yohji on top of him, and kissed him, shutting out his conscience and the part of him that told him this was stupid and dangerous. Made love to him, and listened, even laughed out loud - he'd forgotten how much Yohji made him laugh - and morning found them curled together, hands and hair and tangled limbs.

And then it ended.

* * * * * * *

It was better this way.

Better for Yohji, because he loved Asuka, in a way. Not like he loved Aya. Not like he'd loved the old Asuka, the one who'd let him go. But he had made a promise, and this sober, saner Yohji kept his word.

Better for Aya, because to be with Yohji now would be to steal his life. To take away the normal things that they'd all longed for; to dip him once again in blood and death.

Better to keep those he loved away from him. Kazuki, Aya-chan and now Yohji, all sealed in normalcy, where he could watch and know that they were safe.

It was better.

* * * * * * *

Two nights later, Aya met Omi at the address he'd been given, ready to kill. It was an old apartment building, scheduled for demolition, evacuated weeks ago. They entered through a broken ground floor window and climbed a dozen flights of stairs, following a trail of disturbed dirt and dust which led them to a door. A door the same as all the others on its hallway, except that it was closed. Aya went to pick the lock, but Omi pulled out a key; in a moment they were inside. Omi locked the door again behind them. There were signs of life: a battered sofa, a small TV resting on an upturned crate, a heap of bedding on a bedroll under the boarded up window. One door led to a bathroom, another to a tiny kitchen, a third was locked and chained and padlocked. Aya prepared to fight his way in, but Omi laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Not yet, Aya-kun. We don't have time."

Aya tried to keep the vision of what might be behind that door firmly from his mind, and joined Omi in the shadows.

They didn't have to wait for long. Aya heard the creak of a door, a muffled scream, footsteps; short strides and a shuffle. He was dragging a girl with him. Probably his next victim. Aya shoved down anger and turned to Omi for the signal.

And then, too late, Aya saw the cold rage in Omi's eyes. He really was a good politician, to hide it so well.

"Who?" he asked.

Omi blinked, the mask came down. "Sorry, Aya-kun?" he whispered.

There was no time.

The target burst into the room, huffing from the effort of making it up all those stairs with his struggling, sobbing burden. The instant he'd released her, Aya stepped forward, sword in hand. Glared at the girl first, to make her scuttle away while he had the target's full attention.

It shouldn't have surprised him that it was the same man he'd met in the car park the other day. Kryptonbrand's contact. But it did. He kept those lives so seperate, and yet...

He should have known.

"You're a little early for the data, Fujimiya. I thought our date was for tomorrow."

Aya drew his sword, and tried not to think of Yohji as it settled with age-worn comfort in his hand. "It just got cancelled," he said. The gun was still there, under the tight-fitting jacket, but the target made no attempt to reach for it.

"Who are you now? Weiß? Krytonbrand? Or," with an amused glance at Omi, "Takatori?"

Aya let the rage wash over him for a moment before he spoke.

"I am your death."

It should have been simple: the man made no move, showed no defence. The sword should have sliced through him, a twisting upthrust should have had him crawling on the floor, vomiting blood.

Instead something hit Aya in the chest with the force of a hurricane, and threw him back against the wall. He slumped to the floor, clutching bruised or broken ribs, gasping for breath.

"Revenge, Takatori?" he heard, and after it a scream. Omi fell to his knees, clutching at his head, howling in pain.

Aya looked up to find himself facing the long cold barrel of the gun.

"I could crush your mind slowly," said the enemy. "Or I could shoot you quick. The choice is yours, Fujimiya." And then he hesitated.

The wire sang.

"The girl," said Yohji from the doorway, as the target gasped in his noose. "He's drawing power from the girl. Quick, Aya!"

Aya rolled just as the gun went off, scattering holes into the wall behind him. He landed by the girl, scooped her up in his arms and ran. Kicked the door shut behind him and hoped it was enough.

There was a struggle, a thud.

The girl looked up at him, tears pouring down her pretty face. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't ask to be like this. I didn't-"

"Stop crying," said Aya, and it came out more harshly than he'd intended. How could he explain that her pain was so close and real and sharp, so much his sister's, that it cut him up inside? "It's alright," he said, a little more kindly. "It's not your fault."

She blinked at him, smiled and promptly fainted.

The door opened and Yohji leaned back against the frame, lighting a cigarette. He wore a long coat that looked a little like his old uniform, well cut, snug at the waist and making him look even taller and lankier than usual. Aya's heart was still thudding in his chest. His arms tightened around the unconscious girl.

"Is Omi alright?"

"Yes. Are you?"

Aya considered that, briefly. His ribs ached, that was all. "Fine," he said. "But-"

"Aya!" A bark from the room beyond. "I need to get this fucking door open!"

Aya he returned to the apartment, laying the girl carfully on the sofa where if she woke she wouldn't see the target lying dead and blood-spattered. Killed not by wire, but crossbow, at close range. Omi was kicking the door with a fury Aya had never seen in him before.

"Hey, chibi," said Yohji. "Let me."

Omi stopped his assault with considerable reluctance. "Alright," he said. "Please hurry. Yohji-kun."

Yohji picked the locks, deft as ever, and the door swung open.

There were two boys, huddled together on a filfthy matress, eyes full of the kind of terror that never really went away. Omi signalled for Yohji and Aya to stay back, and approached the boys slowly.

"You're alright," he whispered. "It's over. You're safe."

The slightly older-looking of the two cuddled his companion protectively, shooting Omi a defiant look. "We can look after ourselves," he said.

"If that were true, you wouldn't be here," said Omi. "I can help you to develop your power. To really protect your brother and yourself, and others like you."

"Hey, Aya," whispered Yohji. "Has Omittchi been reading those X-men comics again?"

Aya managed a manic sort of grin.

"We saved you," said Omi. "Surely that counts for something?"

The boy relaxed a little.

"Come with me," said Omi. "And you'll be free. I promise."

He thought a moment longer, lost in Omi's big blue eyes, then nodded.

Omi nodded back, then drew a phone out of his coat pocket, and punched speed-dial.

"It's done. You can come in now."

Then he turned to Aya, and smiled. "Thank you, Aya-kun."

"Who was he?" said Aya.

"Exactly who it said in the briefing, Aya-kun. An Eszett scientist."

"He was also working for Kryptonbrand. Or did you know that?"

"Yes, I knew. They gave you that information to pass on to him at my request. I needed to let him think he'd tricked Kryptonbrand into giving him information that would help him, information about people with power he could use. I'm sorry we had to lie to you. It was the only way I could be sure."

He shouldn't be surprised. This was how it always worked. Takatori. Kritiker. Kryptonbrand.

"And you?" said Aya, turning to Yohji

"Woman's enemy is my enemy," said Yohji, with a grin.

"And here I was thinking you'd come to save me," said Aya, dryly.

"That too," said Yohji. "You know me. Any damsel will do."

Aya should have hit him for that, but he was too confused. "How did you know?"

"The mission papers fell out of your coat," said Yohji. "I accidentally read them."

"Accidentally?" said Aya. Omi snorted with laughter.

"Once a detective..."

"And you decided we couldn't do without you?"

"Nah." And Yohji's eyes locked with his, full of humour and affection that had no damn right to be there. "I just thought it might be fun to watch."

Aya might have flung him against the wall and done one of two things to him at that point, had he not suddenly heard footfalls behind them. Soft, measured steps.

"Nagi-kun."

"Omi." Nagi ran his eyes over Aya and Yohji with an odd kind of gratitude, but it was nothing compared with the affection with which he looked at Omi. "Thank you," he said, with more emotion in his voice than Aya had ever heard before. "You didn't have to-"

Omi reached out and squeezed Nagi's hand. "Yes," he said. "I did."

Their shared gaze was so intense that Aya found himself looking away.

"Omi," said Yohji, softly. "You done with us?"

Omi smiled at them, then, and nodded.

"Mission complete," he said.

* * * * * * *

Yohji and Aya parted company ouside the apartment block. Yohji tried to catch his hand, but Aya snatched it away. He'd given in once. He knew he couldn't do it again.

"You shouldn't have come," he said. "They'll know. They'll own you again. You-"

"Killed again?"

Aya looked away.

"You never stop being Weiß, Aya. You should know that by now."

"But you had a way out."

"So did you. So did Ken. Look where it got us."

Aya fixed his eyes on a distant lamp post, knowing Yohji was right, and hating it. Not for himself, he'd accepted his own fate a long time ago. But not for the people he loved. He deserved it. They didn't.

"You had a new start," he said. "You should have kept it."

"There was nothing new about it," said Yohji quietly. "I never stopped being Kudoh Yohji. You were right; I can't escape the past. It's part of me; you can't lose some of it and keep the rest; I can't lose Asuka, or Weiß, or you. I can't escape it, any more than you can stop being Ran. However much you might want to. We are what we are, Aya. That's all."

The night was very still, and Aya closed his eyes and listened to the dark, and waited for Yohji to touch him. But he didn't.

And when he looked, Yohji was walking away.

He watched him until he was a distant shape, lost in shadows.

* * * * * * *

Dawn found Aya back in Sendai, packing ready for the flight back to London. Two phone calls; one on the secure line from Omi, saying thank you for the gift. One from Ken, who asked outright if he'd seen Yohji.

Aya lied again. He'd explain in person, he told himself. Perhaps.

He walked around Sendai to eat up the hours before check in at the airport; the festival was in full swing now, the crowds full. Easy to lose himself and think. However grim his thoughts might be. Somehow, he had to put things back together, get on the plane and go back to London. Find a way of telling Ken what had happened. Or not.

Gradually it dawned on Aya that he was being followed.

Without altering his pace he peeled away from the crowd, and found a suitable alley where he could deal with whoever it was in an appropriate fashion. He wheeled around, fist snapped back, and hit.

"Ow! Fuck, Aya, you bastard!"

"Yohji?!"

Big green eyes looked up at him reproachfully.

"What were you following me for?"

"I only wanted to know what plane you're catching." Yohji scrambled to his feet and brushed dirt off his jeans. He tentatively felt his nose. "Am I bleeding?"

"No, idiot. And what does it matter which plane?"

"Don't sound so pissy. Maybe I wanted to come and see you off."

Aya caught his gaze, and wondered how much more he could stand.

"Or," said Yohji. "Maybe I want to come with you."

Aya's heart leapt into his mouth, blood roared in his ears.

"I was planning on maybe a big dramatic airport scene," said Yohji. "But I know you hate a fuss."

Aya blinked at him.

"I can't do that to you," he said. "I can't drag you away from the life you wanted, from Asuka-"

"She's not Asuka." Any trace of humour was wiped from Yohji's face in an instant; there was a shade of the old, desperate Yohji there instead. "I have Asuka here, in my heart. I always will. But I want _you_, Aya."

A beat, and then, again. "I want _you_."

Aya remembered the myriad good reasons why this should end here, why it should have ended a year ago in Sheol, or in the shot-out mission room in the Koneko. It should have ended a thousand times, in a thousand different places. But it hadn't. It never had. It never ended.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Pulled Yohji close and told him with his mouth and tongue, and fingers in his hair, and a tiny incoherent sound that felt like a whimper. He scrubbed damp cheeks on the silk of Yohji's shirt, and ached.

Yohji drew back first, one hand tangled with one of Aya's as if he never meant to let go, and smiled.

And it was real.


	17. Epilogue: Meditation 5

Aya lay in bed, and watched Yohji sleeping.

Yohji had been sleeping a lot since they'd arrived in London. Jet lag, he claimed, but Aya knew he just liked to be in bed, ready in case Aya felt the need to join him.

Which, as it happened, Aya often did.

He smoothly swept the single sheet off Yohji's somnolent form, and dropped kisses on his silky skin. Ran a finger down his spine.

So beautiful.

Things weren't perfect, of course. Ken was all kinds of confused, and probably a little mad. Yohji had made noises about taking him clubbing, claiming that it was about time the boy got laid. Aya had met that idea with cold indifference, until Yohji read his mind and set about reassuring him in a hundred different and quite imaginative ways.

Dangerous though the feeling was, Aya was finally starting to believe that Yohji was his.

He swept his hand over the curve of Yohji's buttocks, dipped around to touch the outline of one hip, sharp and hard. Yohji shifted, very slightly, enough to give the game away. He liked this, Aya knew, to lie there pretending to be asleep while Aya had his wicked way with him.

And that morning, he felt like being very wicked indeed.

He rolled over onto his back, closed his eyes and began counting.

He got to twenty, before Yohji shifted a little.

Thirty before he sighed.

Thirty-five before he feigned restlessness and flopped over, his arm falling next to Aya's, skin brushing skin.

Aya kept his eyes closed, his breathing even, and tried not to laugh.

Yohji yawned loudly.

Forty-two.

"A~ya..."

Aya kept his silence.

"Aya, stop messing with me."

He heard rustling and the bed shifted.

Then he felt soft hair, warm breath, and he gasped as his cock was enveloped in the hot wet cavern of Yohji's mouth. It stiffened instantly, swelling and pushing against Yohji's tongue. Yohji murmured happily and nibbled on it with careful lips, swirling around the head with his tongue, sucking just enough.

When he'd brought Aya's cock fully to life, Yohji let it fall from his mouth, and looked up with the big green eyes Aya found it so hard to resist. "Can I fuck you, Aya?"

No surprises there. Since Aya had let him top the other night - for only the second time ever - he couldn't get enough of it. Not that he minded Aya returning the favour, or any of the other things they did together in bed. Or in the car, or the kitchen, or the shower, or the shop when the others had gone out.

But this was special.

Aya nodded, and touched Yohji's soft, dark hair with his fingertips. Yohji grinned at him, never quite, even now, believing his luck. Aya's cock and ass twitched in anticipation as Yohji reached for the lube.

Aya surrendered himself to Yohji's touch, parting his legs when Yohji tapped on his knee, rocking his hips up to make it easier. Yohji made him slick and wet, teasing his ass with soft fingers and clever tongue until Aya relaxed and let him in. His cock pressed at Aya's entrance, slipped inside him easily, got half way before Aya's body clenched, making him gasp.

"Take it easy," said Aya, as if Yohji needed to be told. Yohji grunted and shoved it in all the way regardless. It didn't hurt. It was good.

It wouldn't do to let him know, but this was what he liked best of all.

To be full, and stretched, and sore and wanted.

Yohji started to fuck him with long, endless strokes. Slow and steady, giving Aya time to adjust after all.

"Touch yourself," he said, softly. "I love to see you touch yourself."

Aya closed long fingers round his erection with a sigh.

"So beautiful," whispered Yohji.

He lost himself in breath, in the pleasure of Yohji's flesh inside him, hard and big. His cock throbbed and tingled in his hand, forcing a gasp out of him with every stroke.

"The first time I saw you," said Yohji, sliding smoothly in and almost-out and in and almost-out, "I wanted you. Lying there in my bed like God left me a present while I was away."

Aya's teeth sank gently into his bottom lip; he arched his back.

In and almost-out.

"You're so hot and tight. A perfect fit," Yohji's voice getting a little ragged now, control starting to slip. "Fuck, Aya, you feel so good."

In and almost-out.

"So good."

In and almost-out.

"Beautiful."

Aya moaned, and arched again, and Yohji whispered yes, and almost-out, almost-out, almost-out, and in, and then he came, and Yohji came, thick and wet and hot and loud and hard and soft.

And in, and in, and in.

~fin~


End file.
